The Photograph Album
by SlytherinHouseMouse
Summary: The trials and tribulations of how Harry's photograph album came to be.
1. Rubeus Hagrid

**Disclaimer: Fanfiction [fan'fikshun]**

'I've never even seen a picture of them.'

Rubeus Hagrid sat in front of the fire in his cabin, holding a toasting fork speared with an enormous hunk of bread, and keeping one eye on Fang, who was enthusiastically tearing into a dragon steak that was supposed to have been his master's dinner. Hagrid was mulling over Harry's words, spoken to him in Diagon Alley; words which had haunted him for months. During the war, he had heard Lily speak of her sister's family in exasperated and less than flattering terms; but fond as he had been of Lily, he had always imagined that she had exaggerated the Dursleys' awfulness somewhat. In Hagrid's black and white view of the world, any sister of Lily's had to have her merits; and he had known for a fact that the sisters had continued to exchange Christmas presents. It had certainly never occurred to Hagrid that Petunia would treat her orphaned nephew with anything other than love and compassion. After all, Dumbledore had said that number 4, Privet Drive was the best place for Harry, and Dumbledore was, of course, infallible.

So it had been something of a shock when Hagrid, eleven months earlier, had had to chase the fleeing Dursleys half way across the country to deliver Harry's Hogwarts' letter, and it had been even more of a shock to discover Harry to be completely ignorant of the wizarding world. But that, Hagrid could, at a push, have justified: a loving aunt and uncle, mindful of the fate that had befallen Lily as a consequence of her involvement with magic, fearful and desperate to protect their nephew from the world that had killed his mother. Such an attitude would have been understandable. Misguided, of course; but understandable.

However, such an interpretation of the Dursley's actions would have been generous beyond belief. The Dursleys had not just hidden the magical world from Harry, they had hidden his parents from him. How could a woman never show her nephew photographs of his own parents; her own sister? Never speak to that child about them? Never tell that child stories; fill in the gaps of his personal history? How could a woman not make sure that her own orphaned nephew was told every single day how much his parents had loved him, and how proud they had been and would have been of him? Even Hagrid's own father had spoken to him kindly and generously about his mother; and the giantess had certainly not been someone to be proud of; at least not in the conventional sense. Not to mention that anyone who had seen Harry that night in the Hut on the Rock could have been in no doubt that the child had been neglected.

The Dursley's actions were unimaginable. They were cruel. They were _wrong. _But now Hagrid had a plan; a plan so simple he couldn't believe that it had taken him nearly a year to come up with it. He would write to James and Lily's old school friends with a plea for photographs, and he would present Harry with an album. It wouldn't make up for that lost decade, it wouldn't bring James and Lily back, but it would, at least, ensure that Harry _would_ know who his parents were, and how much they had meant to so many people. It would ensure that Harry understood that the Dursleys were an anomaly rather than the norm.

Or at least Hagrid had thought that his plan was simple. He had, however, discovered the flaw in the aforementioned plan as soon as he had started to compile the list of people to write to.

Dorcas Meadowes: Dead.

Marlene McKinnon: Dead.

Peter Pettigrew: Dead.

Benjy Fenwick: Dead.

The Prewett twins: Dead.

Frank and Alice: worse than dead.

Sirius Black. Well, Hagrid didn't want to think about that traitor; suffice to say he hadn't been the Potters' friend at all.

He could always try Mad Eye, but it wouldn't have surprised Hagrid if Mad Eye had such elaborate security charms in place that he had made himself unplottable, and unsolicited owls would be forced to return to sender, unable to find their destination. Hagrid wasn't sure if such magic was possible, but there was little that he would put past Mad Eye. Nor would it have surprised Hagrid if Mad Eye had burnt any photographs in his possession. He had never exactly struck Hagrid as the sentimental type, and he probably considered keeping records a security risk, even if those records were only photographs of the dead. Perhaps he could write to little Dora to see if she considered approaching Mad Eye worthwhile, and of course she was so much better placed to speak to Mad Eye than he. But then, Dora would probably tell him to stop being such a filthy coward and ask Mad Eye himself. Hagrid sighed; it seemed it was back to the drawing board.

The other person that Hagrid had considered was Mrs Pettigrew. Surely she had kept some of her son's old school things? But Hagrid was loath to approach her; anyone who ever mentioned Mrs Pettigrew spoke of a woman completely consumed by grief after the loss of her son. Judging by what he had heard, Hagrid suspected that the only way Mrs Pettigrew would part with anything that had once belonged to Peter would be if Hagrid prised it out of her cold, dead hands. This photograph album really wasn't getting off the ground.

In fact, Hagrid's list, which he had sweated and puzzled over for days, so far consisted of lots of crossings out in thick black ink, lots of blank space, and one name: Remus Lupin. Hagrid hadn't heard from Remus in years; he had no idea where he was living now. After the war, the werewolf had seemed to vanish off the face of the earth. But Hagrid could think of no other lines of enquiry, and after all, the school owls, proud and skilled creatures that they were, didn't seem overly bothered about whether an address was provided with a letter or not. So Hagrid sat down, and started to write.


	2. Severus Snape

Albus Dumbledore stood opposite Severus Snape in the latter's dungeon study. Snape was looking at him expressionlessly, studying the old man's features.

'Can I help you, Headmaster? Only I am rather busy right now.'

'Well yes, Severus, I rather hoped you could.'

Snape had feared this. The expression on the headmaster's face suggested that this favour he was about to request was going to be something that Snape would find distinctly unpleasant. But it was difficult to refuse anything of the old man. It was, after all, only Dumbledore's grace and protection that had kept Snape out of Azkaban. Snape was grateful, of course, but at times like these he rather resented it. Sometimes it felt rather like Dumbledore was his gaoler, and had him over a barrel.

'You realise of course, that following his recent traumatic experience in the bowels of the school that Harry Potter remains in the hospital wing?'

'A trauma he would not have had to experience if the insufferable brat had kept his nose out of matters which did not concern him,' muttered Snape.

'You would have preferred that Lord Voldemort had taken possession of the stone?' remarked Dumbledore with a raise of his eyebrow.

'That's not what I meant and you know it, Headmaster. You enchanted that mirror yourself. The Dark Lord would never have been able to take possession of the stone inside.'

'Perhaps. I feel honoured that you have such faith in my abilities, Severus.'

'I have to have faith in _someone._ But regardless, I do not see how Potter being in the hospital wing concerns me. Should you not be having this conversation with Minerva? She is his head of house after all.'

'Hagrid is trying to arrange a gift for him.'

'How touching. I am now even further from comprehending where I come in. If you'll excuse me, I have work to be doing.' He turned his back on Dumbledore and started selecting vials of potions from the shelves. Dumbledore, however, was undeterred.

'Immediately before the start of the school year, whilst Hagrid was assisting Mr Potter with obtaining his school supplies, Harry informed him that he had no recollection of his parents.'

At the mention of Lily, however indirectly, Snape's heart felt like it had momentarily stopped, but the moment was fleeting and he quickly collected himself.

'Well, that's hardly surprising Headmaster. I cannot think of many people who recall anything prior to their second birthday.'

'Such coldness, Severus.'

Snape's eyes clouded and he looked down at his desk. He was _not _cold; or if he was, it was because he had to be. The old man had no idea of the pain inside his heart; the thoughts and regrets that were constantly churning round in his head; the dreams of what could have been, what might have been, what should have been if, if only…and it had all been his own fault. He could have had everything he ever wanted, but he had chosen wrongly. He had thought he could have both, he had thought she would be impressed by it all; thought that her capacity to forgive was endless. But why had he thought that? He should have taken time to think, really think; he should have perceived that his light and perfect flower would not mix with something so dark. And he should have realised that she meant more to him than power, but he had failed. How was it that he, Severus Snape, so skilled in both Occlumency and Legilimency, could have failed so completely to understand his own emotions until it was too late; could have failed to understand the love of his life's views on the world, until the song-like voice, the exquisite face, that expressed those views were lost to him? These thoughts crowded everything of him ceaselessly, and he knew that if he gave in to his emotions, if he dropped that icy wall he had built up, that those feelings would overwhelm him completely, and he would, quite simply, no longer be able to go on living. Though sometimes he wondered if not going on living would be such a bad thing. He had agreed to Dumbledore's request to help protect Harry in the hope that one day, when his torment was over and he was finally at peace, that Lily's soul would return to him, forgive him, welcome him into her arms in her warm embrace.

He was struggling not to lose his temper now. Dumbledore always knew how to bait him.

'Perhaps I did not make myself clear, Severus. Harry has never even seen a picture of his parents. Petunia kept no photographs of them in the house. Vernon told Harry that his mother was a worthless drunk…'

'Dursley said _what_?_' _It took all of Snape's willpower not to slam his fists on the desk in front of him.

'Harry never believed him of course, but he barely knows what his parents looked like. Hagrid hoped to arrange a photograph album for him. I thought, perhaps, that you might be willing to contribute?'

'How would I be in a position to contribute?'

'You were friends with Lily; I thought perhaps you may have some photographs from her childhood? The list of the Potters' friends is nowadays, you will understand, brief. I believe Hagrid has written to Mr Lupin, but he was not close friends with Lily until later. I expect you may be able to fill in the gaps?'

'No.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I have none Headmaster.'

'None?'

'None.'

'At all?'

'How many times will you require me to repeat myself?' He was close to shouting now. 'I have none. Please leave. _Leave_.'

Later that afternoon, Snape recalled the conversation. He had lied. He did have a photograph. Just the one; he hadn't kept more than that, and he never looked at it. Looking at it had always been too much for him. But he had kept it, because it was a photograph of quite possibly the most perfect memory of his life; a time when they were children; a time before the Dark Lord, before words like _mudblood _had ruined everything; a time when Lily would slip her hand into his and smile at him, asking him so many earnest questions of the magical world she wanted to know everything about; a perfect memory of his perfect water lily. Potter's brat was not getting hold of that. It was _his,_ and his alone; the only thing of _her_ that still belonged to him. James Potter had won nearly everything, and he would not give away to James' Potter's spawn that final tiny fragment that was the time before James had set his greedy, arrogant eyes on Lily. But one thing made him hesitate in his certainty: Lupin. Dumbledore had said that Hagrid had contacted Lupin. Could he, Severus Snape, Lily's _best friend, _allow that filthy werewolf to have the last word on Lily's history? The idea repulsed him.

He looked at the drawer in his desk. No, Potter was _not_ getting to see the photograph, but what about Snape himself? Could he allow himself to look, just this once? His heart beat a little faster as he tentatively pointed his wand at the locked drawer.

'Alohomora,' he whispered.

The drawer slid open gently, teasingly, lovingly, and he withdrew a small packet wrapped in soft green tissue paper. Green like her eyes. He ran his finger over the paper, gently, gently unwrapped the soft layers, and looked hungrily at the sweet face gazing up at him. A single tear formed in the corner of his eye and then the tears wouldn't stop and he cried and cried and cried like he hadn't done in what felt like a hundred years.


	3. Water Lilies

_1__st__ September 1971_

After their escape from those two _dreadful _boys, Severus Snape and Lily Evans had found an empty compartment and had had a pleasant journey on the Hogwarts Express. Severus, having put to one side the jibes that had been thrown at him, was feeling optimistic about the months ahead. He was away from his tyrannical father. And unlike at home, in his muggle street, no one would point and whisper and laugh because of his strange clothes. He was wearing school robes; Hogwarts' robes; just like everyone else. Of course, his robes weren't new; his father hadn't allowed his mother money to buy his school supplies. Eileen Snape had, however, anticipated this and had been squirreling away a tiny bit from the housekeeping every week for months. Nothing much; a few pence here, a few pence there; any more and her husband would have noticed; but she had exchanged the muggle money for magical at Gringotts, and she had had enough to buy Severus's robes and books second hand, and, unable to afford a trip to Ollivander's, she had surrendered her own wand to her son. It wasn't a huge sacrifice; it wasn't as if she got the chance to use it nowadays anyway; but it was a symbolic one. Eileen had never been a woman who smiled much; she had never been someone who indulged in outward displays of affection, smothering her son with hugs; but she had always tried protect him, as far as she was able, and to show she cared, in her own way.

Lily had bought sweets from the trolley for herself and Severus to share, and she then sat with rapt attention listening to her friend telling her all he knew about the Hogwarts' Houses. Later in the day, Sirius looked on with admiration as Lily showed him her new camera. The first camera she had ever owned. It was a gift from her father, who had, after being informed that muggle gadgetry would not work at Hogwarts, bought the camera in a shop in Diagon Alley whilst shopping for his daughter's school supplies, and presented it to her with strict instructions that she was to write often, and illustrate her letters with photographs of every tiny detail of her school life, because he wanted to know all about it. Severus used the opportunity of Lily's showing him the camera to edge closer to his friend, his head touching hers, his hand grazing hers.

It was late when the train finally pulled up in Hogsmeade station. Lily ran to the train door with enthusiasm, she turned round, her face shining with delight.

'Look, Sev, look! We're _here, _Sev. Can you believe it? We're _really_ here. Aren't you excited?'

Severus grinned and nodded, but it was Lily he was looking at, rather than the station. He was drinking in her beautiful auburn hair, her delicate nose, her brilliant green eyes; that smile which radiated from her; the smile that at that moment was directed straight at _him_. He often wondered why it was that this perfect creature wanted to spend time with him; why she'd chosen him as a friend, no not a mere friend: her _best friend_; but he shook the thought. She had, and that was all that mattered, surely? His daydreams were interrupted by a giant voice which cut through the night air.

'Firs' years over here! Over here, please. You'll be sailin' up to the castle. No more'n three to a boat.'

Lily's eyes widened in shock when she saw the figure of the man the voice belonged to. He was every bit as large as his call; but she relaxed when he smiled kindly at her; she could instantly tell that he was not a man to fear. She gave herself an excited hug, sidled up to Severus and slipped her arm through his.

'Come on, let's get a boat together.'

It was a cold, clear night. The scores of children didn't talk; they watched the journey of the boats in awed silence. The air was so still and quiet that every noise was heightened. An owl hooting, the sweep of the oars in the water, and, was that a mermaid splashing over there? They were so far north, and so far from any muggle settlements that there were no electric lights for miles around to pollute the sky. Instead, a crescent moon shone in an inky black sky encrusted with the stars of a thousand galaxies; every single one among the millions visible with a startling clarity. Severus watched Lily as she leaned out of the boat, her fingers brushing a group of water lilies floating on the flat, calm water of the lake; a look of dreamy wonder on her face. Lilies for his Lily. The scene was like a painting; the light from the stars reflected on the lake, and sparkled and glistened on the length of her hair that was rippling down and just, just touching the surface of the water. The lake stretched out as far as his eye could see and her hair glistened and the two seemed to merge as if this lake and his Lily were all that there was of the universe. Certainly they were all that mattered. He noticed her camera lying at her feet on the floor of the boat. It was too good a chance to miss. He picked it up and turned it on, just as she had shown him to.

'Lily,' he whispered. 'Lily.'

She turned her head round to face him. Her eyes were laughing and her mouth was dancing. Or was it the other way around? He couldn't think; his head was so giddy at the sight. Lily didn't have time to notice the camera before Severus clicked the shutter. There was no time for her to react and pose. And so the expression he caught was natural. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was Lily.

A few days later, having quickly exhausted her first roll of film and having had it developed, Lily slipped over to the Slytherin table at lunchtime to show Severus her photographs. Lily was disappointed: the photographs were out of focus, funny little shadows and smudges wandering dementedly in and out of the frame; poor Lily hadn't quite mastered the art of photography yet. Dejected, she hadn't even looked at them all. Severus commiserated her, but his eye had noticed what Lily's had not: the photograph, almost at the bottom of the stack, which had turned out perfectly. The one he had taken. He could not have been happier, and when Lily wasn't looking he slipped it out of the stack and into his pocket. He slept with that picture under his pillow for many a year.

* * *

_June 1992_

The afternoon after he had decided to arrange Harry's photograph album, Hagrid returned to his cabin after his weekly inspection of the Forbidden Forest. For the first time that school year, he had found nothing untoward. He came in the door of his home and threw his tools down on the table, noticing as he did so an envelope with his name on it which had definitely not been there when he had gone out that morning. He tore it open to find a photograph of Harry's mother. There was no note to accompany it. She could only have been in first year. It was a head and shoulders portrait of her, taken at night; the glittering sky and the Black Lake, spotted with water lilies, could be seen in the background. On the back, a childish scrawl, in faded pencil read "Lily and the water lilies", and below, in ink so new that it was still wet, and had stained the inside of the envelope, "Lily Evans". The word "Evans" was written in thick, bold, block capitals.

And so it came to be that Hagrid had his first entry for the album, but he had no idea who had sent it.


	4. Andromeda Tonks

It was early morning and Andromeda Tonks sat at her kitchen table in her dressing gown, bleary eyed, shivering slightly despite it being June, and clutching a mug of hot lemon and honey. She had spent the past week in bed with influenza, had consumed far more pepper-up potion than was probably healthy (not that it had made the blindest bit of difference of course; she might as well have been drinking pumpkin juice) and had only crawled out of bed because the dratted editor at dratted Transfiguration Today wouldn't stop badgering her for a copy of her recent research paper, and the only way to shut him up would be to send him the blasted thing (and then she could stagger back upstairs; hopefully before she collapsed). Her head was killing her, and she was concentrating very hard on holding her mug, as she was fairly certain she was going to drop it at any moment. It seemed illness was turning her into her daughter. The only thing she wanted to think about right now was her nice, soft pillows, and maybe Ted bringing her a hot water bottle; but thanks to that impatient imbecile she was having to focus her mind on paperwork. Bloody journalists. She had imagined that working freelance in academia would allow her to be her own boss, but apparently not.

Andromeda was rarely ill and she considered it grossly unfair that she had managed to come down with influenza in the middle of summer. Didn't normal people get sniffly at Christmas? Was this why people insisted on contacting her? Did they not _believe _she was ill? Judging by the pile of post on the table, including one her own owl, Pegasus, had just brought in (was he not supposed to deliver _her _mail, not bring other people's?) it seemed not. She decided she had better make a start; the pile wasn't going to get any smaller. She put on her newly acquired glasses (it seemed that one couldn't read and write by candlelight with impunity), picked up her letter opener (wondering as she did so if it would be entirely unreasonable to stick a stabbing charm on it and send it to Transfiguration Today's offices) and started to sort through the mountain.

A few minutes later, Nymphadora arrived in the kitchen, already dressed in her trainee Auror robes.

'Morning, Mum. You really don't look like you should be out of bed. '

'Would you mind pointing that out to Hector Fleet?'

'Do you want me to ask Mad-Eye to trump up some charge against him and get him arrested?'

'If he could make it stick long enough for me to shake off this plague, I should be very grateful, darling.'

'You have 'flu, Mum, not the Black Death, even if you do currently look like death warmed up,' said Dora, as she spooned porridge from the cauldron on the stove into a bowl. 'Did you make this?' she asked accusingly.

'No, don't worry, I'm taking it easy; your dad put it on before he left for work.'

'Actually, I don't think we'd even need to contrive anything to pull Fleet in for questioning,' said Dora thoughtfully. 'He is a journalist after all; he's bound to be up to something questionable.' She grinned at her mother.

Andromeda smiled.

'There's some post for you over there. The top one looks like Lizzie's handwriting; Pegasus brought it this morning when he came back from hunting.'

Dora smiled as she picked up the envelope.

'Oh yeah, I promised I'd take her to meet Mad-Eye tomorrow, she's probably reminding me. Look, she put a stamp on it; she's so adorable; she will _not_ believe me when I tell her they're not necessary.'

Andromeda looked at her daughter aghast.

'You're taking your _nine year old muggle cousin_ to meet _Mad-Eye?_ She'll have nightmares for months! Tessa will have your head. And Lizzie might actually believe you about the stamps if you didn't wind her up about so much generally.'

'The three of us are all having tea together,' said Dora, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 'She's been absolutely relentless about wanting to meet him since I started at the Ministry and first mentioned him. As soon as she heard about the glass eye and the wooden leg, she got Long John Silver into her head; remember, from that muggle book she was reading? I think she's half convinced he's going to arrive with a parrot on his shoulder. She's going to be so disappointed…' laughed Dora.

'I don't think I understood a single word of what you just said,' said Andromeda, looking absolutely bewildered. 'Make sure you give Lizzie my love though, and tell her I'll see her soon.'

'Of course I will. It's this other letter I'm curious about though; look, it's got a Hogwarts' crest. Who would be writing to me at Hogwarts? Do you think Snape's remembered something I ought to have had detention for in first year?'

Andromeda laughed, though the laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit; her face turning scarlet. Dora hurried to get her a glass of water. Whilst her mother was drinking, she slit open the envelope, to find a letter from Rubeus Hagrid. Surprised, she scrunched up her face as she read it.

'Mum, look at this.'

Andromeda took the letter from her daughter and read it with a frown.

'He has no photographs of his family? None _at all?_ I don't understand.'

'Neither do I. Do you have any? You were related to James Potter, weren't you?'

'His mother was my great-aunt, but our families didn't really move in the same circles; Charlus was rather…liberal,' said Andromeda with a smile. 'Something I doubt my great-grandparents were aware of when they agreed to the marriage.'

Dora let out a snort.

'I only met James once or twice, and I never met Lily. I don't have any pictures of them at all. I think I might have one of Dorea and Charlus's wedding somewhere though. That might be appropriate.'

'I need to get to work, Mum, but if you tell me where to look when I get home I'll see if I can dig it out for you. We should send it; I feel sorry for the poor kid. Imagine not knowing your parents? But don't go looking for it yourself, get back to bed. And remember, if those sods at Transfiguration Today keep pestering you…' She gave her mother a wink.

Andromeda gave her a weak smile.

'What are you going to say to Hagrid?'

'What do you think? I'm going to tell the filthy coward to ask Mad-Eye himself and not to use me as a go-between!'

Andromeda looked at her daughter knowingly, knowing full well that Dora would be feeling so sorry for Harry that she would cave in and speak to Mad-Eye before the end of the afternoon.

'I'll see you later, Mum. I won't kiss you goodbye; I have exams next week, I don't want to miss them because I'm laid up in bed with your germs. See you tonight. Love you!'

'Love you too.'

And with that, Dora vanished.

* * *

Andromeda had been honest about the fact that she had not known James Potter well. However, when she had said to her daughter that she didn't have any photographs of him, she had not, strictly, been telling the truth. What she had meant, was that she didn't have any photographs that she was willing to share. She had one, very beautiful, photograph of Sirius, James and Remus with Dora when she was tiny. The problem was that in the photograph, Sirius was transformed into a big, black dog. And Andromeda had promised never to reveal his secret. She knew he was innocent, knew in her bones. The evidence had been stacked against him, but that didn't mean anything. There hadn't even been a trial, and they were dealing with_ magic_, for Merlin's sake; Andromeda could think of so many possibilities that would mean Sirius was innocent, or at the very least not culpable: memory charms, confundus charms, the imperius curse... Andromeda could not allow herself to believe that Sirius was guilty of the crimes of which he had been accused. She couldn't believe that her own judgment could have been so flawed. So she had kept quiet about Sirius being an illegal animagus.

Ted; loyal, reliable, wonderful Ted, had kept quiet too. He trusted and respected his wife too much to do anything else. And he had never been comfortable with Sirius's imprisonment himself. Sirius's apparent actions had quite simply not tallied with his experience of the man.

Dora hadn't seen Sirius since she was four years old. Once Sirius had finished school, he had been too busy with the Order to spend his time visiting his relations (he had kept in contact by regularly sending Dora packages containing his spare chocolate frog cards), so it had been fairly easy to convince her, as an eight year old, that Sirius hadn't really been an animagus at all: he'd just been conning her to make her laugh.

But if Andromeda sent that beautiful photograph to Hagrid, she would risk exposing her cousin's secret. And she had promised she wouldn't. And she never had. And she never would.


	5. The One That Got Away

_Christmas Day, 1975_

Two weeks before Christmas, Ted Tonks, in fit of festive spirit and aided and abetted by his daughter, had spent hours planning how to decorate the house to best effect. Andromeda, stunned to find that her husband was actually showing some organisational skills for once, had left them to it. She had quickly come to regret that decision. Dora, all two and a half years of her, had been enchanted by the brightly coloured paper and pot of glue that her father had left on the table, and had decided that she was perfectly capable of making the paper chains that her daddy had talked about so excitedly. She wanted to be helpful, and the paper being _so _pretty and _so _enticing was merely an added bonus. It had only taken a second, when Ted turned his back, for Dora, with the apparent skill of a mountaineer, to clamber up onto the table and upend the entire pot of glue. When Andromeda came running into the kitchen in a panic, having heard Ted's cry of '_Dora!', _she had found her daughter sitting on the table with an expression on her face that was half guilt and half curiosity, a sticky substance dripping from her fingers, a leg stuck firmly to the wooden table top, and various pieces of brightly coloured sugar paper hanging from her hair. It had taken Andromeda half an hour to extract Dora's leg from its sticky prison, and hours of scrubbing in the bath to fix the child's hair; the glue seemed to be resistant to wandwork; at one point Andromeda had become convinced that she was going to have to take a pair of scissors to her daughter's beautiful locks, but it had turned out all right in the end. Ted had received a stern lecture on being a responsible parent, and had had his decorating privileges revoked.

On Christmas Day, listening to the appreciative noises of his parents and sister, who had joined them for lunch, Ted had to concede that his wife had done a far better job with the decorations than he ever would have managed. Dora's contribution, 'Star for tree, Dora not like fairy, fairy naughty', had been listened to seriously, and happily abided by.

The family had sat down to lunch in Andromeda and Ted's cramped little kitchen, at a table groaning with food; a goose, crispy skinned and crackling deliciously, surrounded by accompaniments of sausage, stuffing, roast potatoes and parsnips, gravy boats and cranberry sauce (Ted, in charge of the meal, had instituted a ban on brussel sprouts). Dora was ensconced on Andromeda's knee, and was picking bits of food off her mother's plate whilst giggling cheekily at her Auntie Tessa, who was sitting rolling her eyes at her father, who was attempting to entertain everyone with jokes from the muggle crackers he and his wife had brought along with them.

'Dora, my lovely,' said Elizabeth Tonks with a smile, 'don't you want your own plate?'

'No Gamma, Dora like Mummy's food. Mummy's food yummy,' she answered firmly.

Andromeda simply shook her head resignedly. It was as this was going on that the doorbell rang. Andromeda looked at her husband with a puzzled expression on her face.

'Ted, did you invite your colleagues over?'

'No, I would have told you if I had.'

'Who would call on _Christmas?'_

'Well, I had better go and see,' said Ted. He looked at Dora, 'should Daddy go and solve the mystery?' Dora wriggled on her mother's knee and nodded; eyes wide with anticipation.

Ted opened the door to find three teenage boys on the doorstep. One with messy black hair and glasses; a second who was rather thin and drawn; and a third, who bore a certain resemblance to Andromeda, who stuck out his hand and announced, with a confidence bordering on arrogance, 'Sirius Black. Is Anna at home?'

Ted couldn't believe it, of all the days for this to happen. Why did they have to turn up now? Andromeda's family had said their piece; they'd made their views _very_ clear; could they not just leave them be now? With all the anger the mild-mannered man could muster, Ted stepped outside, closing the door behind him; he pulled out his wand, and squaring up to Sirius, hissed at him.

'Do you have any idea what it was like, seeing my teenage fiancée crying her eyes out when she realised she was going to have to walk down the aisle without anyone there for _her? _How she felt when she realised the family she loved with all her heart wanted nothing more to do with her? Do you know what it was like seeing my wife desperately ill after giving birth and no one came to see her, despite me sending letters _begging_ just _one_ of you lot to come? Do you realise how long it's taken for her to feel settled, and happy? She is happy, and I will _not_ allow _anyone_ to jeopardise that now. If you're just here to cause trouble for her, _Black, _then Helga help me, I will _not_ be held responsible for my actions.'

Sirius looked taken aback. He was struggling to get his head round the fact that he'd just been threatened by a Hufflepuff. Ted had been so _fierce._

'You must be Ted?'

'Yes.' The answer was short and bore not a hint of encouragement.

'I'm not here to cause trouble. I wouldn't do that. I didn't know she'd been ill; Narcissa and I were at school, no one told us anything. I would have come if I'd known, I swear. I'm not like the rest of them. I've left. I'd had enough. I'm in _Gryffindor,' _he finished in an injured tone.

Ted looked at Sirius and saw the earnestness in his eyes.

'I'm staying with James,' Sirius indicated towards the black-haired boy, 'but his parents have gone to their holiday home in France for the holidays, and Remus's' he indicated towards his other companion, 'parents have guests over who are marginally less pleasant that _my _mother…'

'So the three of you thought you'd come over here and get fed?' Ted's mouth twitched in amusement.

'Well, I _really_ wanted to catch up with my favourite cousin,' answered Sirius, 'but if you're _offering_, it would obviously be shockingly bad manners for us to refuse.' He held up a parcel. 'I brought the baby a Christmas present.'

'Well I suppose you'd better come in then. But for pity's sake don't call Dora a baby in her earshot.'

The boys followed Ted into the kitchen.

'Anna,' called Ted 'look and see what the cat dragged in.'

Andromeda turned round with a look of exasperation and Dora wriggled off her lap and toddled under the table towards her grandmother.

'Oh _no_, don't tell me Morgana's been gifting the neighbours mice agai-'

She stopped, her eyes widening.

'Sirius.'

And with one fluid motion she leapt from her chair and flung her arms round her cousin's neck. Sirius had never in his life seen Andromeda quite so demonstrative, but today her eyes were shining and as she hugged him he could feel her shaking with happiness.

'I can't believe it. You're here! How are you? What have…'

'I think you've gone soft, Anna.'

This, it seemed, was Andromeda's cue to compose herself. She looked affronted.

'I have _not _gone soft.'

Introductions were made and the kitchen, which had already been cramped with six people in it, was vacated in favour of plates on knees in the lounge. Sirius had attempted to engineer the seating in such a way that he was seated next to Tessa, a teenage muggle seeming to him to be the perfect subject to work his charm on. His plans, however, had somehow been thwarted (probably by Andromeda) and instead, after lunch was finished (during which Tessa had regarded Sirius with an air of patronising amusement), he and his friends had been left alone, sitting on the floor, being stared at by a toddler clutching a stuffed polar bear. His efforts thus far to engage this small being in conversation had had limited success. He wasn't quite sure whether it simply lacked the necessary language development or whether it was being deliberately awkward (though given who it was related to, the latter seemed most likely). He stuck out his hand.

'I'm Sirius.'

The creature pulled a face.

'What's your name?'

He knew her name, of course, but it seemed like a suitably simple question in order to establish if she was capable of response.

'Nyffadoda Addomeda Toggs,' she answered. Result!

'Did Santa bring you anything nice for Christmas?'

She nodded gravely and held out her toy to him.

'Santa left Dora's roller bear.' She paused. 'He gots soot on the floor.'

'Did Mummy have to clean it?'

Dora nodded.

'What a silly polar bear, getting soot on the floor.'

'Santa sooty, not roller bear. Dora's roller bear's fluffy. Silly Sizzies.'

'That's you told, Padfoot,' grinned James.

Dora smacked Sirius on the hand, dropped her polar bear at his feet, and wandered over to James, eying his glasses. She plucked them from his face and examined them closely, twisting them in her hands with concentrated but clumsy movements. When, after careful examination, she decided to try them on herself, she managed to poke herself in the eye before finally putting them on, upside down, over the bridge of her tiny nose. She craned her neck awkwardly in a vain attempt at keeping the glasses from falling off. Remus smiled and walked over to her.

'Other way, little one.'

He took the glasses from her, turned them round, and placed them back on her nose. Remus and Sirius laughed at the glasses which looked absurdly large on her delicate little face.

'When you put them on you can see and when you put them off you can't see,' she announced profoundly.

'That's right, so, eh, can I get them back please?' asked James.

Dora shook her head cheekily and dashed off into the corner of the room, giggling as she did so. Remus and Sirius were laughing at James' expense.

'It's not funny! I can't even see two foot in front of me, let alone what I'm supposed to be laughing at!'

'Dora,' said Sirius, 'if you give James back his glasses, I'll show you something even better.'

Dora shook her head. Evidently, this game was fun enough. So Sirius, realising that desperate measures were called for, transformed into a great black dog. _That _stopped Dora in her tracks. Her eyes grew wide and she just stared for a moment, before giving a delighted squeal and dashing over to Sirius, jumping onto his back, throwing her tiny arms round his neck and James' glasses forgotten, though still on her nose, snuggling her face into Padfoot's thick fur. He was such a big dog, and Dora was so tiny that her weight on his back barely registered. James pointed his wand at his head and sprouted a pair of antlers, and Remus shaking his head, rolled his eyes, as a clicking sound and a flash of light came from the doorway.

Tessa was standing there grinning, camera in hand.

'That was far too good a photo opportunity to miss,' she said happily.

Dora slipped off Padfoot's back.

'Sizzies's a doggy,' she informed her aunt.

'So I see,' said Tessa, kneeling down to her niece's eye level, gently easing James' glasses off Dora's nose, and passing them back to their rightful owner. Dora dashed out of the room with an excited yell of 'Mummy!'.

Sirius didn't have a chance to fully transform back into himself before his cousin entered the room with her daughter. Andromeda looked livid. She marched up to Sirius, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out into the hall.

'What in Merlin's name do you think you're playing at? An animagus!'

'It's not what you think! James transfigured me, that's all.'

'Don't give me that, I know an animagus transformation when I see one. For Salazaar's sake, Sirius, do you have any idea how serious this is?'

'You look so like Bella when you get angry.'

'Don't change the subject,' she hissed.

'I've not done anything you haven't done.'

'And there's a lot I've done that you haven't! Like _registering with the Ministry, _for a start. _I _did things by the book!'

'How do you know I haven't?'

'You're sixteen; you've no more legally registered as an animagus than passed your apparition test. Do you realise what will happen if the Ministry finds out, Sirius? This isn't some silly game; you've broken the law. And do you have any idea how suspicious it looks to be working on concealment and disguise illegally?'

'It was just a bit of a laugh.'

'Do you think the Ministry will see it that way? Do you? They won't see how you could possibly have had an innocent or honest motive. That's your problem Sirius: you don't think. It might have seemed like a great joke at the time; but it doesn't seem to occur to you that actions have consequences. Can't you see that if the Ministry find out about this, it will mean _Azkaban_?'

'You're exaggerating.' But the mask of arrogance had slipped a little now.

'I don't make the law, Sirius, but I do know it. I had to sit exams on it before I registered; and I can assure you, the consequences of what you've done are _severe_. And it's not just that; you must have done this completely unsupervised; what if something had gone wrong? Did you think about that? Did it ever occur to you that you could have ended up in a ward in St Mungo's for the rest of your life; or dead? I don't suppose it did.'

'Anna…'

'Just get out of my sight, Sirius, I need to think about this.'

Sirius walked back into the living room, glancing over his shoulder at his cousin, who was sitting on the stairs, holding her head in her hands. He felt riddled with guilt.

James and Remus were looking at him as he came in. They had obviously been listening.

'Yeah, mate, your cousin's _really_ gone soft,' sniggered James.

Sirius looked at Dora.

'Traitor,' he said.

'Oh that's right Sirius, blame the baby,' said Remus with exasperation.

Dora glared at him.

'Dora's _not_ a baby,' and she gave Remus's forehead a hard smack.

* * *

When the three boys came to leave Sirius looked at Andromeda.

'I'm sorry, Anna. You're not going to turn me in though, are you?'

She gave him a hug.

'Do you really think I would do that to you? I won't tell, I promise. But for Salazaar's sake, or Godric's, if you prefer, please be more careful, Sirius. For your own sake, as well as mine. Please, Sirius, please will you think before you act?'

* * *

_June 1992_

Andromeda looked at the photograph that her sister-in-law had taken all those years ago. She hesitated for just a moment, before putting it back in the drawer in which she had found it.

* * *

That evening Rubeus Hagrid received a letter written in the most elegant script he had ever seen.

Dear Mr Hagrid,

Nymphadora informed me you were looking for photographs of Harry Potter's family. I didn't really know James or Lily, so I'm afraid I can't help you there, but I did have a photograph of Harry's grandparents' wedding day, as Dorea was my grandfather's sister. I hope it's of use to you.

Good luck with your quest.

Regards,

Andromeda Tonks.

There was a PS written in a different hand: an untidy scrawl.

Mad-Eye said he'd look something out for you.

Love, Tonks.


	6. Alastor Moody

When, back at the beginning of September, Nymphadora Tonks had discovered that she had been the only applicant to be accepted into Auror training, she had been inordinately proud. She had thought, when filling in the application form and writing the word "Black" in the box that said "mother's maiden name", that her application would be rejected outright. But it hadn't been. She had imagined, when she had gone to Professor Sprout asking for a reference, that given her detention record, her Head of House would laugh in her face. But Pomona had smiled at her, wished her luck, and sent a reference to the Ministry that praised her so highly that Dora barely recognised herself in its words. However, she was now nearing the end of her first year of training, and had long since realised the disadvantages of being the Auror department's sole trainee. Her instructor, mentor, torturer-in-chief Alastor Moody took his role very seriously indeed, and having no contemporaries to temper the attention and workload she was getting, her days were intense and exhausting in the extreme. It didn't help that every other member of the Auror department seemed to be in league with Mad-Eye.

Mad-Eye's continual cries of "CONSTANT VIGILANCE" were not just for effect; he lived this mantra; it was a state of mind that was part of his very being. And he seemed determined to turn Nymphadora into a paranoid, gibbering wreck. It wasn't enough that she often stayed up past midnight reading up on advanced defensive magic; it wasn't enough that she spent hours every day engaged in duelling practise (she was very surprised that her wand had held up so far – she had recently had a conversation with her grandmother, where Elizabeth had spoken of how much money she had spent on ballet shoes when she had been dancing professionally; the dancing was so intense and the shoes were put through so much that she could wear out a pair in a night. Nymphadora had started having dreams that the same thing would happen to her wand if Mad-Eye expected much more of it). No, Mad-Eye seemed to have recruited Kingsley Shacklebolt to _attack her _at times when she was supposed to be off duty. Nymphadora had been indignant, just a few weeks into her training, when, sitting quietly eating her lunch, a curse had come flying past her ear, causing her to drop her sandwiches in fright and scrabble around for her wand, which she had stashed at the bottom of her bag. Typically, that had been the day she had forgotten her purse, and her colleagues had refused to share their lunches, or lend her any money, with Kingsley telling her, she 'had to learn'. Stupid, self-righteous Ravenclaws. She had grumbled to Mad-Eye about how unfair it was: she had been off duty, minding her own business, eating her lunch; but Mad-Eye had been unsympathetic.

'Death-Eaters aren't going to leave you alone just because you're filling your mouth, Trainee Tonks; it is precisely when your guard is down that a dark witch or wizard would attack. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!'

Nymphadora's cheeks had burnt with humiliation, and she had had to endure a particularly gruelling training session on an empty stomach. After the second time this happened, Nymphadora had taken to eating her lunch morphed into a faceless, grey-robed, anonymous Ministry employee. This had given her peace for a while, until someone had twigged and grassed her up. She suspected it had been Dawlish, the swine. So Nymphadora had had to devise ever more elaborate ways in order not to starve; but it had certainly taught her to always have one hand on her wand.

There had also been the time, back in January, when she had promised to take Lizzie out for dinner after work; it had been Lizzie's birthday, and they were going to a muggle restaurant, so Dora had been sitting in the changing rooms at the end of the day, putting on her shoes having just changed into a muggle dress, and she had suddenly found herself surrounded by Aurors aiming hexes at her. She'd been furious about that one, and had managed to demonstrate exactly why she had been accepted onto the training programme. She wasn't entirely sure that Auror Shacklebolt had quite forgiven her for that one. But then, if she had to be constantly vigilant, he bloody well did too. Rule number one: never underestimate your opponent. By March, it had got to the stage that Nymphadora, lying in bed on the rare nights she actually had time to go home, was half convinced that she was going to be attacked in her own bed as she slept. The eighteen year old had contemplated creeping into her parents' bed for added protection. Safety in numbers and all that.

She had learnt a lot though, that was undeniable. What Nymphadora, in her haze of exhaustion and overwork, had failed to notice, however, was how impressed the department were with their newest recruit; that all the praiseworthy character traits which Pomona Sprout had extolled on her reference, were clear for all to see. Nymphadora might be clumsy and very, very young, which showed in her naivety and her endless chatter and her silly sense of humour; but she was one of the hardest workers any of them had ever come across. She was stubborn and proud and refused to give up on anything. She was honest and trustworthy and loyal. She had real passion and intensity, and Mad-Eye knew, even when Nymphadora doubted herself, that she would make a great Auror one day.

And now, June had come round and her first year of training was almost over. And against all expectations, she had become rather fond of Mad-Eye, (though she maintained that this was in a weird, Stockholm Syndrome sort of way). Mad-Eye, in return, had developed an almost grandfatherly-like soft spot for Nymphadora, which he demonstrated in his own unique way by scheduling in extra practise sessions in Stealth and Tracking. This could have been seen as a further attempt to get Nymphadora to collapse with exhaustion, but Dora, by this time, could see it for what it was: a mentor who was determined not to allow one weakness to mean she failed the course. Mad-Eye's fondness for the girl was further demonstrated when he had stunned the department by agreeing to Dora's half-joking request that he meet her young cousin.

'Auror Moody', Dora called, at the end of what had been a particularly exhausting day, (though she recognised with pleasure that it was a day that would have been beyond endurance only a few months ago; her stamina and will had improved exponentially this year). 'I received a letter this morning; it was addressed to me, though it was for you really.'

'If you are receiving suspicious packages at your home, Trainee Tonks, you should have informed me _immediately, _not waited till home time_,_' barked Mad-Eye.

Nymphadora had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

'It wasn't suspicious at all; though I can't deny that it was unexpected. It was from Rubeus Hagrid.' She fished around in her bag and passed the letter to him.

'Are you certain of the sender?'

'It came with a Hogwarts' crest, and was delivered by a Hogwarts' owl, Auror Moody. I cannot comment on if the handwriting tallies as I've never seen Mr Hagrid's handwriting before. Sir.'

'Was there anything in the contents that made you think the sender may have had a nefarious motive? Did the letter contain anything that concerned you, Trainee Tonks. Use your instincts.'

'Yes, the contents concerned me, but not in that way. They upset me a little. But there was nothing written that seemed out of character for Rubeus Hagrid.'

'What do you mean by that, Trainee Tonks?'

'Oh in the name of Helga, Mad-Eye, just read the damn thing! I'm starting to see why Hagrid used me to deliver it!'

Mad-Eye gave Nymphadora an appraising stare. She looked suitably embarrassed by her outburst and lapse in propriety. He opened the envelope and scanned the parchment. He frowned.

'I never did like the sound of that Petunia,' he said gruffly. 'I can see why you were upset, but you must learn to control your emotions.'

'Do you have anything to contribute?'

'I may do,' he said thoughtfully. 'But I remain concerned about security risks. I am not happy about sending photographs taken during the war through the post. Anything could be intercepted.'

'Auror Moody, what security risks could a few family photographs of dead people pose?'

'Just because a risk is not immediately apparent, Trainee Tonks, does not mean it does not exist. Do not forget that. You can tell Hagrid that I'll look something out. But I may deliver the photographs myself.'

'Thank you, Mum's sending something too.'

'Your mother would be wise to heed my concerns.'

'I'll be sure to let her know. Are you still coming to meet my cousin tomorrow?'

'I made a commitment, Trainee Tonks.'

'Not worried that she might pose a threat?' she said cheekily.

'I've weighed up the risks.'

Nymphadora grinned and turned to leave.

'Nymphadora,' the girl cringed at the sound of her first name, 'are you remembering we have a visit to Azkaban after your exams are over next week?'

Her face fell.

'I remember,' she said, and she turned and walked out the door.

**A/N Reviews are very welcome! There will be another chapter featuring Mad-Eye, and then we will finally have Remus Lupin appearing; unless anyone desperately wants me to attempt a few chapters featuring Augusta Longbottom and Mary MacDonald first; though I have no plan for those and I'd probably write them terribly.**


	7. And Again, Alastor

Alastor Moody lived in a small house on the outskirts of Harrogate. The street, originally built to house the families of muggle labourers in Georgian England, had seen better days; the local Council had not seen fit to make the upkeep of the areas of the town that lay off the tourist trail a priority. Alastor's muggle neighbours were proud and far from slovenly; their gardens were always well-tended, their windows clean and their front steps swept, but beyond constant petitioning of their local Councillors and MP (who all seemed completely ineffective and gave the impression of walking around with their fingers in their ears half the time) there was little they could do about the fact that the road was full of potholes and had been since a particularly harsh cold snap in 1978; the local park unkempt; and bin collections had been reduced to once a fortnight (and could drop to as little as once a month over Christmas, depending on when the holidays fell).

To the uninformed observer, had they been privy to such information, it would have seemed an incongruous place for the Head of Aurors to live. A celebrated wizard, due to retire the following year on a pension that was rumoured to be more than generous, could surely have afforded to have his pick of homes; and yet he chose to remain among muggles in his run-down cottage.

But Alastor was the Head of Aurors; a decorated war hero who had fought and seen horrors beyond the imagining of the average witch or wizard. He knew of curses, had witnessed Dark Magic so terrible that if the general public ever got wind of it, well, it was safe to say that an encounter with a boggart would never again result in the appearance of a few spiders. Alastor's training and experiences had had a profound effect on him; they had honed his instincts and reactions so that he was constantly on the alert. Quite simply, he did not think like other people; he would never have survived so long if he had. Living in a grand house would have attracted attention, and secrecy and discretion were, for an Auror, key. And of course it was far easier to _protect_ a small house; there were far more places in a large building for an intruder to gain access, and far more places for an intruder to conceal themselves. It was all very well showing off, but not much use to you in the long run if your ego got you killed. His house had a back door and a front door, and small windows; an arrangement which was far more manageable.

Living in a muggle area too, had distinct advantages. Setting up magical detection traces in Ottery St Catchpole would have been a waste of time; there were so many witches and wizards running around; so many children playing pranks with their father's wand, or losing control and performing accidental magic that the traces would have been going off constantly. It would be very easy to miss something suspicious, with so much extraneous background to discount. In a muggle area, that problem didn't exist, and his protective enchantments could be monitored far more effectively. No one was likely to be apparating outside his house in Harrogate without a purpose. Be that for good or ill. He had other reasons for staying. It was the same house, the same furniture that he had moved into when he was married. It was hard to leave the house in which he had brought up his little family, even if he and the dog lived in it alone these days.

There were disadvantages too, of course, to having muggle neighbours. They tended to want to _get to know him_. Old Mrs Ravendale next door on the left was forever bringing round home baking for him. The first time she had done that, he had felt compelled, once she had left, to throw all manner of security spells at the banana loaf on his kitchen table. It had taken him two full days to conclude that the cake was neither cursed nor poisoned. In the end, he had had to concede that Mrs Ravendale was both benign and something of a master baker, but that still didn't mean that he wished to make a habit of socialising with her. She was, however, somewhat persistent; seemed to think that he might be lonely. And then, next door on the right, there was Sophia and Matilda Stockley – three year old twin sisters who had started off a little scared of him, but once they had established that he was the owner of a rather friendly spaniel, had decided that he was their favourite person in all the world. The two toddlers took great delight in shouting 'Hello Mr Moody!' every single morning and receiving a grumpy reply, before he (apparently grudgingly) allowed them to pet Bramble. It was rather difficult being intimidating when your stupid mutt was less vicious that a pygmy puff, which was why the magical community would never be introduced to Bramble, old softy that she was.

Alastor knew that people called him mad. He knew that people thought Mad-Eye paranoid. But just because you were paranoid, it didn't mean people weren't out to get you; and if people were out to get you, then you weren't paranoid.

Mad-Eye arrived home late that evening in a reflective mood. Clutching his wand, he glanced around, his magical eye penetrating the blackness of the night, making sure there was nothing watching, waiting, in the dark. Assured that all was at it should be, he raised his wand, closed his real eye, and concentrating his mind on the password, stepped forward and melted through the door. He sat down on his threadbare old sofa and watched as Bramble came trotting towards him, laying her head on his lap and looking up at him beseechingly, clearly angling after having her ears scratched. Mad-Eye obliged, and Bramble took this as her cue to jump up on the sofa, and snuggle gently into him.

'Daft dog,' he muttered.

Mad-Eye reached into the breast-pocket of his cloak and withdrew the letter that Nymphadora had presented him with. He had often thought of the Potter boy over the course of the last decade. Not in the way that other people had; vile vultures desperate to be associated with the Boy-Who-Lived. Mad-Eye had known Harry as a baby; he had assisted Dumbledore with the protective enchantments that had had to be put in place around Number 4, Privet Drive. Reading Hagrid's letter, he almost felt inclined to lift some of those enchantments whilst Harry was still safe at Hogwarts; let the Dursleys take their chances with an unguarded house. He was astute enough to realise that Harry not being allowed to see pictures of his parents was only a tiny fraction of what was going on behind closed doors. If Mad-Eye hadn't known that Harry's safety was irretrievably linked with the Dursleys' safety, he would have been sorely tempted.

Mad-Eye had photographs of the Potters; he had photographs of all the Order's fallen. One photograph sat on the centre of his mantelpiece (his fire was not connected to the floo network; Mad-Eye had never quite understood why the vast majority of the magical community allowed a portal to a publically accessible transportation network to take pride of place in their homes. They were all so careful about setting up anti-apparition enchantments, and yet failed to recognise the risk of the floo). It was a photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix; every last one of them. He would not send that to Harry. He was too young to understand the full sacrifice of war; and Mad-Eye doubted, that at the age of eleven, he would be interested in the faces of lots of people he didn't know. It was only his parents he would want to see.

Mad-Eye had photographs of the Order members; he just didn't look at them very often. Looking at the photographs of his friends made him remember their fates, and it made him think of the trials of the scum who had hurt them. The ones who had been imprisoned; and the ones who had been allowed to walk free. It made him remember the frustration and fury when after all his efforts in engineering his arrest, filth like Igor Karkaroff had been allowed to stroll out of Azkaban and create a cushy life for himself educating the next generation of Death-Eaters at Durmstrang. It made him go cold when he remembered the very worst day of his life; the day he wished he could forget, and yet knew he never, ever could. It made him cry when he remembered picking through the ruins of the Potters' home, and then having to pass hoards of people celebrating, when his friends were dead. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help feeling that they were celebrating a double murder; that for most people, the Potters had been acceptable collateral damage. It made him want to howl with the injustice of it all when he remembered Alice Longbottom radiating happiness as she handed in her resignation at the Auror office when she fell pregnant; how nine months later she had come to him with a gentle smile on her sweet face and asked him to be Neville's Godfather, and he had told her not to be ridiculous and to ask someone sensible. How seventeen months after that, he and Kingsley Shacklebolt had walked into the Longbottoms' home to find Frank and Alice lying senseless on the living room floor; and Neville, Mad-Eye's little not-Godson crying in his cot, unable to understand why his mother wouldn't play with him. Mad-Eye had delivered Neville to Augusta personally, and vowed to hunt down the scum who had committed that unspeakable crime. He had apprehended and interrogated Bellatrix Lestrange himself. He had expected the usual: a protest of innocence; claims of the imperius curse; but instead, the beautiful, cold, alluring Black girl had caught him by surprise when she had looked him directly in the eyes and taken full responsibility for the crime. Then a tear had formed in her eye and she had held her head in her hands and whispered, 'but I failed, I failed him; they knew, I know they did, they had to; but I went too far; I lost control.'

He had asked what involvement her husband and brother-in-law had had; she had looked at him with contempt, and said, 'them? They were on guard duty, that's all.' He had looked at her in disbelief, and she had let out a hollow laugh and sneered, 'you can't honestly think _Rudolphus_ has the wits for anything more complicated?'

When she had stood up at her trial, and proclaimed her eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord, Mad-Eye's hatred for her had been absolute, but he couldn't help noticing that slippery squirming out of trouble like Lucius Malfoy had done was not her style. He couldn't help but notice the sad thing about Bellatrix: she had so many admirable qualities: talent, bravery, dedication, loyalty, integrity, passion; all the qualities he sought in an Auror. But those qualities had been twisted. His hatred was absolute, but It was difficult not to feel a stab of regret for the great witch she could have been, had her talents been channelled more appropriately. It was one of the reasons why he had taken such an interest in Nymphadora. He had seen in her Ted Tonks's goodness, but the Black talent and drive and passion. It was the perfect combination.

But tonight, Mad-Eye had promised himself that, despite the difficult memories, he would climb up into the loft and take down his old photographs. He would go through them and deliver the best ones to Hagrid. He would do it. In honour of James and Lily. And all the others.

**A/N Sorry for the slight delay in updating, but as it seems I'm only writing this story to please myself, I don't suppose it matters how long the updates take. I honestly, honestly, would appreciate feedback.**

**Re: Mad-Eye – I have no connections to Yorkshire; I had never been to Harrogate; but for some reason Mad-Eye always struck me as a Yorkshireman. In the same way I decided Andromeda had to live in Cambridge, even though I've never been there either.**


	8. Protecting Them

_May 1981_

Alice Longbottom stood at her kitchen window, gazing out anxiously as she waited for Dumbledore to turn up. He wasn't late; Dumbledore always arrived exactly on time. He wasn't due for another fifteen minutes, but the tone of his voice when he had requested a meeting with both the Longbottoms and the Potters, together, had suggested to Alice that this was not going to be a social visit. The war was raging and Alice had sensed agitation in Dumbledore's voice. She may have stepped down from the Auror Office, but Alice's instincts were still good. Alice was starting to wring her hands and rock her feet, shifting her weight from one leg to the other; a sure sign she was getting stressed and impatient waiting. It was extraordinary how long even five minutes could feel, let alone fifteen.

Frank and James were discussing the recent attack on a muggle village in Wiltshire; the Order had had intelligence that the village was likely to be a target; they had been planning a security visit the previous Friday night to cover the village with protective enchantments. The Death-Eaters had arrived on the Friday morning; it was almost as if they had known the Order's plans. The muggle authorities had attributed the collapse of the street to a previously unidentified, unstable mine shaft; but the land the village had been built on had never been in a mining area. So the Order members had arrived to assist in the clean-up operation and take witness statements, when their aim had been to prevent anything happening in the first place. James knew that Dumbledore suspected they had a traitor in the Order; he said there was no other explanation for the Death-Eaters consistently knowing their plans; but James refused to believe it. The Order members were his friends, and his friends were, well, his friends. He knew them better than he had ever imagined he would know anyone, and he knew they would never betray each other. Some in the Order had their suspicions about Remus; but that was nothing but prejudice. Some in the Order had their suspicions about Hagrid; but whilst Hagrid could be careless at times, when he had a drink in him, he knew his weaknesses and had avoided drink since he had joined the Order, for that very reason; and he was loyal. To Hagrid, the Order was Dumbledore, and Hagrid would no sooner betray Dumbledore than cut off his own arm. There were some in the Order who had their suspicions about Sirius, because of his family, but if Sirius had been in league was his family, he had been playing a very, very long game. Sirius was practically James' brother; James trusted Sirius above anyone except Lily. Plus, there was the small fact that Sirius was about as subtle as a rampaging hippogriff… And the Order members were all strong-willed; they would be able to recognise and fight the imperius curse.

No, James had to conclude that the timing of the attack had been mere coincidence; or, at worst that the Death-Eaters were employing Dark Magic to spy on the Order. Alastor thought he was a reckless fool, but everyone knew Alastor was paranoid. James was certain there was no traitor.

Alastor had come as well; Lily and Alice had been trying to coax him to reveal what Dumbledore wished to tell them, but he had insisted that Dumbledore had not, as yet, fully filled him in either, and divulging incomplete information was a dangerous game. Alice, remembering her training, had nodded at this; Lily had huffed a little and protested, but accepted Alastor's decision in the end. Alastor, at that point, was sitting on a straight-backed chair at the kitchen table, with two ten month old babies clutching his knees. When Alastor had entered the house, Harry and Neville had eyed him from a distance for a while, sizing him up. At first, they had clearly been a little frightened of the gruff, craggy old man with the barking voice. But from their positions by their mothers' feet, they had started crawling towards him; Neville, a little more timid, had initially drawn back when he was barely two feet from Alice; Harry had got a little further from Lily before he too, had shuffled backwards on his bottom, keeping his eyes on the big man. Each time, the boys got a little closer; when they got within reaching distance Alastor leant down and growled at them, sending them scurrying back under the table, Neville bursting into loud wails and Alice chastising Alastor ferociously. Eventually, however, the two boys, to squeals of delight, had concluded that Alastor's bark was worse than his bite, or perhaps they had concluded that Alice would protect them if Alastor attacked. Either way, they simultaneously crawled towards him, and using his legs as a support, pulled themselves up into a standing position and clung onto his knees. So now they were stood there, Neville grinning docilely and Harry hiccupping with laughter, Alastor trying to work out if the babies were making fun of him.

'He likes to pretend he's tough,' said James with a grin, 'but he comes into contact with a couple of babies and he turns into a big ball of cotton wool.'

There was no response from Alastor.

'I don't think he's listening, James,' said Lily.

'Oi! Grumpy guts,' shouted James.

Alastor turned round.

'Aw, he knows I'm talking about him. Anyway, we've got his attention now.'

Alastor shook his head and went back to ignoring James. He leant down and picked the boys up as if they didn't weigh anything at all, although Neville was becoming quite a sturdy little thing.

'I am impressed with you two,' he said gruffly, as Harry pulled on his robes and head-butted his shoulder, and Neville patted his head. 'You showed excellent skills in assessing risk in the face of a potential enemy. I am proud of you. You will both make excellent Aurors one day. Come and speak to me in ten years and I'll pull some strings for you.'

Lily nearly choked at this.

'_Alastor! _They won't even have started Hogwarts in ten years' time!'

'It's never too early to learn to defend yourself.'

'I'd suggest we at least wait till they've had their first visit to Ollivander's,' suggested Alice dryly, finally moving away from the window.

'Anyway, Mr Moody, I don't believe Lily and I have yet shown you photographs of the boys' christenings yet.'

'I can't think why not.'

'Don't be sarcastic. Of course, if _someone _had agreed to be Godfather like I asked, _someone_ would have been there and had his own pictures and wouldn't need to be shown mine.'

'So she's punishing you,' said James. He then let out a yell as Lily gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.

Harry continued to pull on Alastor's robes, but Neville, by this time, had lost interest in Alastor's head, and was staring, transfixed, at a pot plant on the window sill.

Alastor, much to his relief, didn't have to spend too long looking at the numerous photographs Alice and Lily produced from the pockets of their robes. He politely glanced at them, whilst Neville and Harry made grabs for the pictures and tried to insert them into their mouths, for a only a few minutes, Alice and Lily proudly pressing copies on him to keep, before Dumbledore arrived at the back door, and the atmosphere in the room changed.

When Alice and Frank had been at school, Dumbledore, wise as he was, stern as he could be, had always seemed to have a merry twinkle in his eye. Since the war had started, that twinkle had dimmed. Today, there was no sign of it at all; Dumbledore's expression was grave, and everyone in the room could sense that it was not good news. He took a seat, and looked at the room's occupants through his half-moon spectacles.

'This time last year, there was a prophecy made…'

* * *

When Dumbledore had finished Alice and Lily were in tears; Frank looked like he was in shock and James was shaking his head in disbelief.

'So you don't know yet, to whom the prophecy refers?' asked Frank.

'It is certain Mr Longbottom, that it refers to one of Harry or Neville. As to which of them, I cannot say.'

Alice strode across the room and plucked Neville from Alastor's knee. She clutched him tightly, tears streaming down her round, gentle face.

'He'll be all right though, won't he? You'll keep my baby safe?'

'The Order will do everything in its power to protect both of your families,' responded Dumbledore. 'Ultimately, we will be looking at the Fidelius Charm, but that will take time. But you will require to go into hiding immediately.'

'Please Dumbledore; just make sure our babies are safe.'

**A/N I know I said this chapter would be about Remus, but, well, I lied. (Unintentionally!) Next chapter will definitely be about Remus.**

**From my reading of the book, the Fidelius Charm was not performed until mid-October 1981, but that the Potters were definitely already in hiding in July, so I am working on the presumption that Voldemort did not disclose to Snape until very late on that he was after the Potters specifically. So my timeline is that Snape spoke to Dumbledore in July/August 1981 (allowing Snape to take up the Potions post in 1981), but that the Fidelius Charm can't just be performed "just like that" – that there's a lot of preparation work that goes into it. Therefore, at this point in the timeline (May), the Order are still in the dark as to whom the prophecy refers, so both the Longbottoms and the Potters go into hiding, but just with "standard" enchantments rather than the Fidelius Charm.**

**Anyway, I hate to beg, but please review! At the moment I'm getting the impression that the story isn't very popular, and reviews can give me a heads up if I'm on the wrong track, or confirmation that I'm on the right one!**


	9. Remus Lupin

After the war had ended, Remus Lupin had found himself alone, penniless and rootless. He had briefly returned to live with his parents, but whilst he had always loved them, the tension of living under their roof quickly became unbearable. Remus's father blamed himself for his son's condition, and had spent years investigating and researching anything that promised the merest hint of a cure. It was an obsession that had driven the poor man to the brink of insanity and destroyed his health. Some of the medicines he had discovered had at least brought pain relief in the mornings following Remus's transformations, but the suppliers charged a fortune for them; none of them had any charitable desire to alleviate a werewolf's suffering, and it was easy to exploit the desperate. And then there were the men who were simply charlatans; they promised the world to Remus's father; all it would take was a whisper of the word "treatment" or "cure" for the vulnerable, loving man to part with his gold. At best, on owl would arrive weeks later carrying a sleeping potion; at worst, on one occasion, a vial of poison. He had been lucky to recognise on sight that potion for what it was. But most of the time the men Remus's father had tried to do business with had simply disappeared with the family's hard-earned cash. As a result, Mr Lupin had nearly bankrupted himself and his wife with his efforts to save his son.

When Remus had been a small child, he had seen his father as a hero; a man who would fight tooth and nail for him. But living at home, as an adult, he grew angry with his father. Not for what Fenrir Greyback had done, but for Mr Lupin's inability to let go. What was the point, Remus thought, in fighting a lost cause? Remus, grief-stricken for the friends he had seen die during the war, was then forced to watch his impoverished parents fade away in front of his eyes. And for what? Remus had wanted to scream at his parents to leave him be, to forget him, he wasn't worth it. Instead, he had only been able to watch as his by that point terminally ill father muttered about clinics in Canada from his hospital bed. It had almost been a relief when they had died. Mrs Lupin had passed away a matter of days after her husband, undoubtedly from grief. It had almost been a relief, but the guilt had been overwhelming.

Remus had drifted around for several years after that, going from one low-paid job to another, renting rooms at exorbitant rates in accommodation that could only be referred to as slums. He never lasted more than a few months in any one job or one house; someone always checked the calendar in the end. Both Sirius and James had given him money after they had left school, but Remus would never touch a penny of it. He didn't feel that James' money belonged to him; he was sure James and Lily wouldn't have spared it if they'd known when they gave it to him that Harry would be coming along. James's money belonged to Harry by rights; spending it would have felt like stealing. As for Sirius's money? It was tainted. Remus had given it all away, anonymously, to charity. He didn't care that he couldn't afford to part with it; Remus wasn't going to be beholden to the traitor.

Eventually, Remus had found work in the muggle world tutoring and marking exam papers at a university in London. The pay was irregular, and dried up entirely during the long university holidays, but it was something, and the work itself was stimulating and enjoyable. And he was, by that point, so used to living in poverty that he could save enough money during term time in order to be able to scrape by during the lean months.

He lived in a tiny studio flat not far from Baker Street. It was a guilty pleasure of his to sneak down to the old part of Baker Street underground at night, sit down on one of the benches and watch. Watch what? Nothing at all. He watched the stillness, the silence. He had no idea why he did it, other than that, for some completely inexplicable reason, he found there to be something rather arresting about that station.

The flat was far enough away from Diagon Alley to allow Remus to keep a low profile; but London was still the central hub of the British magical community; so he did occasionally find himself face to face with someone he knew. He shared a butterbeer with Elphias Doge from time to time, and had recently bumped into Emmeline Vance, who had decried how thin he was looking and had, under a stream of protest stemming from misplaced pride, dragged him out for lunch.

The room he lived in was sandwiched between two larger student flats in a Victorian close. The flat on the right was occupied by four students at the Royal Academy of Music: a pianist, a violinist, a cellist, and a contralto. They were a decent bunch. When they first moved in the cellist, a twenty-year old by the name of Kitty Sykes, had come over to apologise in advance for the noise four musicians in one flat would inevitably make. She had softened the blow by informing him that 'it could be worse; we're not playing host to any percussionists; and at least Laura's not a soprano'. Remus had assured Kitty that he was rather fond of classical music, but had then managed to mortally offend her by complimenting her on her Geordie accent. It had turned out that she was from Sunderland. She had forgiven him his faux pas, and he thoroughly enjoyed sitting up at night marking papers listening to Kitty practising Elgar, Laura singing Verdi and bemoaning the high notes, David the pianist practising Rachmaninov, or Cora the violinist showing off with some Sarasate (according to Kitty, Cora was always showing off, it was just what violinists did). Remus always felt a little disappointed when it hit eleven o'clock and the terms of the students' lease meant that the instruments had to be packed away.

The flat on the left was occupied by a group of junior doctors who were rarely seen. They seemed to work hundreds of hours every week, and on the rare occasions they were seen in the close, they looked exhausted. They had, however, noticed that he looked ill; and they had noticed that once a month he disappeared for a few days and returned looking paler and more exhausted than they. Kitty's response was to ask no questions, but to knock on his door bearing a cooked meal and a flask of homemade soup. She had simply said to him, 'I know sometimes people don't like talking about what's the matter, and if you don't want to talk about it, it's none of my business; but for goodness sake eat this and get your strength up'. It had been a wonderfully practical response. The medics, however, speculated openly. Remus had heard one of them whispering 'I think he must be having chemo', on the stair one morning. Remus didn't really mind the speculation; it wasn't as if any of them were going to hit on the real reason for his monthly disappearances, and the sympathy was a pleasant change from the judgmental, disgusted looks he got in the magical world.

It was early morning on one such day following a full moon when he received Hagrid's letter. Remus was in a good mood. For the first time since he had been bitten he had required just one day to sleep off the effects of a transformation. A month earlier, he had spoken to Ottilie Samson, one of the younger and more sympathetic Healers at St Mungo's, who had asked him if he would be willing to take part in a new potions trial. Given his father's experiences, Remus had been suspicious at first, but Ottilie had explained that this was an official hospital approved and hospital funded trial; that it was properly supervised and regulated, that it would be her head on the block if anything went wrong, and that for the trial period he would not have to pay a penny. She emphasised that as it was a trial, it was not without risks, and should he agree he was accepting that, but she was confident that this was going to work. A week before the full moon, Ottilie had arrived at his flat with a sealed bottle of potion and had given him his first dose of Wolfsbane. She had returned every day that week, and on full moon had monitored him in an observation room at the hospital. The effects had been miraculous. The transformation itself had still been agonising, as his bones broke and shifted and his skin stretched and split, but once transformed, he had found that he was still there; he could still think like himself; he was still aware. And he had felt no compulsion to bite and scratch and tear. He had simply curled up and fallen asleep. When he had awoken at sunrise, Ottilie was smiling.

And so it was that Remus opened Hagrid's letter with a light heart. The light heart, though, grew a little weighty as he read Hagrid's words. It sickened Remus that the Dursleys could have treated Harry as they had. Like Alastor, he knew that Harry not having seen photographs of his parents was likely to only be the tip of the iceberg. And Remus felt guilty that he hadn't done more to help the little boy. Of course, he would never have been allowed to raise Harry himself; even if he had had a home and a stable income, the Ministry would never have allowed it. They had told him as much. But Remus had never had any real notion to raise Harry anyway; he had known that he wasn't worthy of the task; knew that Harry deserved far, far better than a werewolf.

But although he knew he couldn't raise Harry, he couldn't on his conscience forget about the child entirely; and although Dumbledore had made him swear on his honour not to interfere, he had still made occasional trips to Surrey, and done what he could to at least keep an eye on Harry. Once, when Harry had been very small, Remus had even dropped in on Mrs Figg; ostensibly for a chat for old times' sake, to reminisce about the war. Mrs Figg had been happy to oblige, but she was a sharp woman, and had clocked the real reason for his visit. Dumbledore had been sympathetic; he had smiled sadly, but had still reprimanded Remus soundly.

The contents of Hagrid's letter disturbed and upset Remus, even if they weren't entirely unexpected; Remus would have had to have been deaf not to have heard the way Lily spoke of Petunia, and more particularly, Vernon. But at the same time, Remus couldn't help being a little pleased, because he had hundreds of photographs of Harry's parents, so now, finally, there was something meaningful he could do for the little boy (though Remus had to remind himself that eleven years had passed and Harry, whilst still young, was not nearly so little as Remus remembered); there was something he could do that was of practical use.

* * *

On Saturday morning Hagrid was sitting in his cabin when a rather old owl flew in the window carrying a scroll of parchment. Hagrid carefully untied the letter from the bird's leg, and laid out a bowl of water for the tired creature. He unrolled the parchment.

'Got your message. There are far too many to send by owl, or certainly far too many to send by _my_ owl. Why don't we meet in The Three Broomsticks tonight for a drink and we can sort them out together? Have you had any luck with anyone else?

RJL.'


	10. The Presence of a Shadow

_30th April 1981_

Harry screeched with triumph as Sirius held his hands and helped him walk around the front room of the cottage in Godric's Hollow. He hadn't quite got the hang of putting the soles of his feet flat on the ground yet; he tended to drag them sideways, but he was getting closer and closer every day. Harry let go of Sirius's hands and made a bee-line for the jar of Floo Powder sitting on the floor by the fireplace. Lily was watching on closely, and she swiftly picked up the jar and placed it on the mantelpiece out of reach. She need not have worried; Harry managed to take one step before nose-diving forward; Sirius grabbed him before he fell.

'I keep telling James not to leave the Floo Powder there; he keeps forgetting that Harry doesn't just stay where you put him now, and he's fascinated by the Floo Powder. He keeps trying to eat it; it's apparently so much more appealing than mashed banana,' sighed Lily.

'I can sympathise with him there,' said Remus. 'Bananas give me a stomach ache.'

Remus was lying on the sofa, still recovering from the full moon, which had been two nights earlier. Unless it was a month where his injuries from his transformation were so severe that they merited St Mungo's, he always recovered at the Potters' home. After they had left school, Lily had enquired as to what arrangements he had made for himself every month. She had been horrified at his response, had deemed his plans entirely unacceptable, and dictated that he should come to Godric's Hollow instead. He had protested initially, telling her he didn't want to be a burden, that he had his pride; telling her it wasn't safe for her and James to give a werewolf house room. James' response to that had been to point out that they had shared a dormitory for seven years, and unless he was very much mistaken, Remus had never torn his throat out then; but eventually, in the face of Remus's stubbornness Lily and James had had to be rather harsh with him to get him to agree, telling him they weren't going to stand for him wallowing in self-loathing; that what he seemed to call pride struck them as just another way to punish himself for something which was not and never had been his fault; that they respected his right to personal autonomy, but that when he made decisions that endangered his health they had to step in; that he was weakening himself in much the same way as his father had done before him, and they really didn't fancy having to arrange their friend's funeral. To Remus their words had been like a kick in the teeth, but he had known, deep down that they were right, and that the sentiments, however crudely expressed, were of love. So he had accepted their help.

As Sirius set Harry back onto his feet and took his hands again, Lily got out her camera, the very same one that her father had bought her ten years earlier. She had, fortunately, long since become much more skilled at taking photographs than she had been as an eleven year old.

'I don't think,' she said, as she snapped pictures of her baby, 'that it'll be much longer before he'll be walking on his own, Sirius, and he won't need your help; what do you think you'll do then?'

'Teach him to fly,' answered Sirius, without hesitation.

Lily looked as if she was about to cry out in horror at this pronouncement.

'It's hard enough keeping an eye on him as it is! I can't help thinking about the chaos that's going to manifest itself…'

'He's going to be running around bothering the cat and playing Quidditch in no time; I wouldn't expect anything less of my Godson,' said Sirius, apparently ignoring Lily's fears. Sirius scooped Harry up off of the floor and blew on his stomach. Harry laughed delightedly.

Lily smiled.

'Honestly, Sirius; the way you go on anyone would think that it was you who'd given birth to him.'

'Well, obviously I am the most important person in his life. They don't call me _God_father for nothing,' he said as he tossed Harry up in the air.

Lily shook her head, just as Harry reached his hands over Sirius's shoulder towards Remus.

'Oi, is Uncle Sirius not good enough for you?'

'You might be the most important person in his life when he wants someone to play with him, perhaps; but he likes his Uncle Remus better when he's tired,' smiled Lily.

Sirius, disappointed that Harry had seemingly had enough fun for one afternoon, reluctantly passed him over to Remus, and the baby snuggled into the werewolf's robes. Remus stroked Harry's hair and smiled down at him.

'Is that you getting possessive over my son, Padfoot?' said James as he walked in the door.

'How did things go, James?' asked Lily.

'We got there just in time, five minutes later and there would have been Death-Eaters swarming all over that house; the protective enchantments are all in place now, but it was a miracle that we managed to get away without a fight.'

'What? But that was supposed...'

'I know. I just don't understand it. That was supposed to be a routine mission to protect a muggle household; a precaution; nothing more. But lately it seems that every plan we have they're one step ahead of us. We were lucky; we arrived early. All our careful planning, all our precautions, and our success came down to nothing but dumb luck.' The frustration in James' voice was evident.

'Let's not think about it. Just tonight James, please. You did succeed; just for tonight, that's all that matters,' pleaded Lily.

'You're right. I thought Wormy was meant to be coming here this afternoon?'

'He was. He's late.'

'He always seems to be late these days.'

'What do you expect, it's Wormy,' said Sirius. 'He's probably got himself lost; apparated to Rowenaswood rather than Godric's Hollow, and is currently drinking a butterbeer with a hag and a goblin, ruminating over whether he's left it too late to come at all!'

James laughed at this.

'That does sound like Wormy. Oh, by the way Padfoot, I've got something for you.' He tossed an envelope at his friend. Sirius caught it and looked inside; it was stuffed full of chocolate frog cards.

'You said Dora collects them? I've even found her an Agrippa.'

'Excellent, thanks; she'll be thrilled; I've not sent her any in ages.'

'Gone off chocolate?'

'Not likely. But I keep getting cards I know I've already sent her.'

'There's some in the pocket of my cloak,' said Remus. 'I'll get you them later, or you can go and look for them yourself, she can have them too. I don't want to move just now though,' he said, looking down.

Harry had fallen asleep, and was splayed across Remus's chest, his arms and legs outstretched; the very picture of tranquillity. Lily grinned at the scene, and picking up her camera, took a picture of her sleeping baby, as Sirius slipped out into the hall to rummage through Remus's cloak pocket.

* * *

_June 1992_

As he gathered up his box of photographs, Remus shook away his memories. Why was it, he thought, that all the lovely memories he had of his friends always had to be polluted by the presence of Sirius Black?

**A/N Please, please review. I really would appreciate people's feedback.**


	11. The Three Broomsticks

For the older students at Hogwarts, the last Saturday before the end of term always meant a Hogsmeade visit. It was a satisfying, ancient, sacred ritual that lent a certain ceremony to the closing of the school year; particularly for the seventh years, as most of them would never return to that fabled institution known as Hogwarts. And so that Saturday, scores of teenaged witches and wizards had been seen milling through the village; wandering the cobbled streets, stealing secret romantic moments under the silent eye of the Shrieking Shack, and making last minute purchases in Zonko's and Honeyduke's; purchases which, for the younger students, would ease the boredom of the summer-long ban on performing magic that lay ahead of them.

By six o'clock, however, the students had all returned to the school, and the streets lay largely empty; not cool or dark, for it was midsummer, and the sun so far north would not set until close to midnight, but quiet and still all the same. Remus had calculated this when he had suggested to Hagrid that they meet that evening; he had had no plans for during the day, but the meeting was important to him. He thoroughly approved of Hagrid's idea, but it felt to him a little like they were creating a monument to his old friends, and creating a monument required a certain solemnity of occasion. It would not have felt right sorting out their album whilst having to contend with the riotous and boisterous behaviour of several hundred teenagers desiring to release the pent up energy and anxieties that were the inevitable consequence of a month of exams.

So when Remus apparated into Hogsmeade at seven, arms laden with boxes, he was confronted with nothing but the pleasant Highland evening air and the fresh, clean scent of the Black Lake. He glanced up at the Shrieking Shack, the old ramshackle tower that had been both his cage and his freedom as a boy. It represented so many conflicting emotions for him; resentment that he had to be locked away and restrained, but gratitude that it had allowed him the chance of an education, a taste of a normal life that most werewolves were denied (although sometimes he wondered if Dumbledore giving him that chance hadn't just been cruel experimentation and game-playing, for he had been educated, but the world denied him the chance to use his education; he had been allowed to experience a world where he would never be accepted. He was nothing but a tormented child who had been given a toy but only allowed to look at it as it sat on a shelf; out of reach). The shack represented the happiness of the bonds of friendship; but also the devastation when those friendships had been ripped from his grasp. Remus gave a shiver as the memories engulfed him, and turned away from the shack towards the Three Broomsticks before the ghosts overwhelmed him completely.

Struggling slightly with the weight of the boxes in his arms, and still a little tired from the transformation which had, after all, only been two nights earlier, Remus opened the door to the pub with his back. The bell that jangled above him signalled his entrance, and he heard a movement to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the unmistakeable figure of Rubeus Hagrid manoeuvring his enormous bulk from where he was seated, and knocking over a table as he rose to his feet.

'Remus! It's good ter see yeh. How are yeh?' He grabbed Remus by the hand and the boxes Remus was carrying fell to the floor, scattering photographs everywhere. Hagrid then enveloped Remus in such a bone-crushing hug that Remus winced with pain.

'It's good to see you too, Hagrid; it has been far too long.'

'Yeh don't have ter shut yersel' away from the world yeh know. People do want ter see yeh.'

Remus didn't really know how to respond to Hagrid's statement; he couldn't deny that that's what he had been doing after all. Even as he opened his mouth to use the excuse he always told himself, he knew it wouldn't wash with Hagrid.

'The Order might, but the same can't be said for the rest of society. I have no desire to burden those who do care to the point that they grow weary of me.'

'We're yer friends, Remus. Is that so difficult for yeh ter understand?'

'Dumbledore has helped me; he gave me a reference for my current job when my previous employers refused.'

'They refused?'

'No one wants to be seen to be recommending a werewolf, Hagrid,' said Remus in a low voice, 'even when the employers requesting references are muggles ignorant of the condition.'

'Yer workin' fer muggles now?'

'At a university in London; I tutor history and classics. The work is enjoyable, if rather sporadic. But anyway, we're not here to discuss me. I got your letter; how is Harry?'

'He's in the hospital wing at the moment.'

Remus's eyes bulged and the voice that emerged was one of panic.

'The hospital wing?! Is he all right? What's wrong with him?'

'He's goin' ter be fine. We were all right worried about him for a few days though. It's all top secret, what happened, but, see, You-Know-Who broke into the school by possessing Professor Quirrell. Nicholas Flamel had been receivin' threats, see, and he asked Dumbledore ter protect his Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore was keepin' it safe at Hogwarts; but somehow Harry found out about it. He thought Snape was tryin' to steal it; Snape seems ter hate Harry every bit as much as he hated James, and the feelin' seems ter be mutual.' Hagrid laughed.

'So Harry and his friends Ron and Hermione got it into their heads that they had to stop Snape stealing the stone. They got past all sorts of enchantments designed to protect the stone, and Harry came face to face with You-Know-Who. He fought him, Quirrell was killed, and You-Know-Who fled once again. The stone's been destroyed. Flamel and Dumbledore decided it was too dangerous to keep; You-Know-Who would have tried ter steal it again.'

'So,' said Remus, 'these enchantments designed to protect the stone from Voldemort,' Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name, 'were overcome by three children?'

'Dumbledore gave the stone the best protection possible.'

'It _certainly_ seems that way.'

'He _did._ It was all my fault. _I _met You-Know-Who; I played cards with him; I gambled fer a dragon's egg. And I got drunk, and I told him how ter get past Fluffy. I didn't know it were him; but I shoulda kept me mouth shut. I shoulda known be'er that ter drink when Dumbledore had entrusted me wi' secrets!'

'But you can assure me Harry is all right now?'

'Yeh; but no thanks ter me.'

'I wouldn't worry about it, Hagrid. What's done is done; all we can do is thank Merlin no harm was done, and learn from our mistakes.'

The last thing Remus was going to do was fall out with Hagrid over this. Remus strongly suspected that Dumbledore had intended all along that the enchantments would not be impenetrable. If he knew the wizard at all, he suspected that Dumbledore had designed the enchantments, not to protect the stone, but to expose Quirrell as the traitor. Why else would Dumbledore have gone to such lengths to protect the Philosopher's Stone, only to destroy it the very minute Voldemort attempted to steal it; an attempt that he had clearly been expecting all along, else the stone would not have required protecting in the first place? Why not just destroy it straight away? Remus was strongly minded to go up to Hogwarts right now and make merry hell with Dumbledore for having such lax health and safety procedures and creating a situation that could endanger Harry's life. Of _course_ James's son would have gone places he wasn't supposed to, found out things that weren't for his ears, and gone charging into battle. It went without _saying. _He dreaded to think of what Harry and his friends would likely get up to as they progressed through the school and learned more about magic. After all, he knew how far _his _friends had gone.

'Anyway, Hagrid,' said Remus as he finally bent down to pick up the photographs lying on the stone floor, 'I believe we are here for a purpose.'

'Yeh,' said Hagrid with a grin. He reached down and withdrew a book from his pocket, laying it on the table in front of him. Remus stood up and looked at the album. It was a beautiful, leather-bound book with thick, creamy pages; clearly expensive.

'Did you buy this yourself, Hagrid? It must have cost you a month's wages!'

'I had some money saved up.'

'May I contribute?'

'Yer already contributing with the contents, Remus; I can't do that. I want ter be able to do summat for Harry.'

Remus decided not to press the matter. He knew exactly how Hagrid felt (and if he were honest, he couldn't really afford to contribute towards the album anyway).

'Shall we start?'

* * *

The time flew by as the two men poured over the photographs; Remus laughing and crying in equal measure as he recalled the memories of his lost friends. Somehow it felt different, more bearable, to discuss them with someone who had known them too, rather than mulling over his thoughts in solitude.

'I hadn't got very far with the album before I heard from you.'

'No, there aren't many of us left now. What had you found?'

'Just these two; I don't know who sent that one o' Lily though; it weren't anyone I wrote ter; it was just left on me kitchen table.'

Remus looked at the beautiful portrait; Lily was clearly very young, and it looked like it had been taken on the Black Lake, which meant their first night at Hogwarts, and if that were the case it could only have been taken by one person. Remus was shocked that Severus had kept a photograph of Lily all this time. He had, of course, known that the two had been friends, but he wondered now if perhaps, for Snape, it had been something more. If that were the case, Remus could understand Severus's wish to remain anonymous, and he decided not to give him away; everyone was entitled to their secrets.

'It's a mystery, but it's a beautiful picture; I'm sure Harry will love it.'

'Andromeda Black sent me that one; she said she didn't have any o' James or Lily; but I'm sure Harry'll be glad ter see a picture of his grandparents an' all.'

'You got in touch with Andromeda Black?'

'Nah, I got in touch wi' her daughter. Dora's training as an Auror now; I thought she might be able ter speak ter Mad-Eye fer me. I hadn't even realised who Dora's mum was – I hadn't made the connection.'

Remus gave a non-committal murmur and decided that the time was ripe for a change of subject. The Black family really wasn't a topic he was overly keen to discuss, and even though he knew, rationally, that Andromeda wasn't responsible for her family's actions, talking about her reminded Remus of her cousin, and Sirius definitely was not a topic he wished to discuss.

The only problem was that it was proving rather difficult, sorting through all the old photographs, to avoid the issue of Sirius Black. He and James had been so close that Sirius featured in so many of Remus's photographs. Years ago, Remus had been tempted to destroy all the photographs in which Sirius appeared; but he was there for so much: the Potters' wedding, Harry's first steps; that Remus couldn't find it in his heart to do it. He wanted to keep the wedding photograph; he didn't want to tear up a photograph showing Harry's happy little features. So the photographs had been kept but stored away out of sight.

Remus wanted the album to feature no one but Lily, James, and Harry. He didn't want Sirius's face sullying Harry's memories. Hagrid wanted to include a few pictures featuring Remus, Remus was against this, saying that Harry wouldn't be interested in seeing pictures of a damaged old werewolf he wouldn't even remember. Hagrid told him he was being ridiculous. In the end they had compromised; it really wouldn't have been right to exclude the Potters' wedding photograph, which featured both Sirius and Remus, so that went in, but the rest of the pictures featured only James, Lily, and Harry (and Charlus and Dorea, of course; Remus worried that there were no photographs of Lily's parents, but assured himself that surely Petunia would have photographs of her mother and father in the house, even if she had denied her sister).

By eleven o'clock, they were only half-finished, but it was getting late, they were the only patrons left in the pub, and Rosmerta was showing signs of wanting to lock up.

'I were hoping Alastor might show up. Dora said he wanted to give me summat, but I need to give Harry his album tomorra. I'm goin' ter finish this at home. Do you want ter come and help?'

Remus smiled.

'Why not?'

**A/N I have been holding back on this chapter as I was worried that Hagrid's speech patterns might descend into caricature and farce. Hope it's okay.**

**Next chapter should be at Hagrid's cabin; however, I am tempted to write a chapter about Remus visiting Arabella Figg (alluded to in chapter 10) first. It wouldn't really be relevant to the photograph story, and would just be a bit of fluff featuring Mrs Figg, Remus, and a two or three year old Harry. What do people think?**

**Anyway, reviews, thoughts, etc. greatly appreciated!**


	12. Figgy Birthday Cake

_31__st__ July 1982_

Remus Lupin had, by design rather than accident, found himself in Surrey on Harry Potter's second birthday. He had promised Dumbledore that he wouldn't go near the Dursleys' home; but he didn't see how anyone could complain about him visiting a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix. Why should Arabella be isolated just because she was a squib? Why should she be cast aside because her usefulness had been exhausted now the war was over? No, no one could complain about him visiting an old friend. That he had only actually met her twice before was immaterial; they had been comrades in arms; they shared a bond of warfare. That he had chosen Harry's birthday to visit her? Incidental. Remus had all his excuses ready in case the Ministry got his wind of his little trip and started asking questions. And they would, undoubtedly. The Ministry would have a lot to say about the werewolf interfering; things were likely to get awkward tomorrow; but he would cross that bridge when he came to it; he wouldn't curtail his trip. Someone had to make sure that Harry was okay. Not that that was what he was doing, of course. Oh, who was he kidding? As he strolled down Wisteria Walk he paused and looked up the sky.

'I won't abandon your boy Prongs, I promise,' and he headed towards number 8.

As he opened the gate an imperious looking Siamese cat crept up to him and started to wind her way round his legs, miaowing as she did so.

'Hello, Snowy.'

He walked down the path purposefully and rang the doorbell. He heard some shuffling, a click of a lock, and an old woman answered the door, supporting herself with a walking stick.

'Remus Lupin.'

'Arabella. Have you hurt your leg?' he asked with concern.

She seemed confused by the question, then with a look of dawning realisation, looked down at the stick in her hand.

'Oh this? Sorry, I thought you were someone else,' she said as she tossed the stick to one side.

Now it was Remus's turn to look confused.

'I'll explain later. Now to what do I owe the pleasure on Harry Potter's birthday?'

'Harry who?' asked Remus, feigning unconvincing innocence.

Mrs Figg crossed her arms and looked at him appraisingly.

'Oh, you mean Harry Potter? Is it his birthday? Why do you ask? Does he live near here? I just popped by to see how Tibbles and Mr Tufty were doing.'

'You're a terrible actor, Remus. Yes, it's his birthday, and yes, he lives just round the corner, as you very well know. You know you're not allowed here Remus, you know the rules and why they're in place.'

Remus looked down and shuffled his feet.

'But as you're here, I suppose you had better come in. I'm not going to turn away a fellow war veteran on the doorstep, especially one does such a poor job of taking care of himself; which I suspect you also knew perfectly well.'

'I don't want to get you in trouble, Arabella. I'll leave.'

'Don't be silly, you're here now. If anyone asks, I'll just feign dementia.'

Remus laughed. 'I don't think Dumbledore would fall for that.'

'Probably not, but it's always worth a shot.'

* * *

'So how are things going for you, Remus?'

'I got the sack from my job last week.'

'How did they find out?'

'My boss was visiting a friend in St Mungo's the night after full moon. He saw me there. Six weeks that job lasted.'

'These people! They don't see what they're missing. It's not like you're being asked to work night shifts on the full moon!'

Remus smiled at Arabella's indignance. It was nice to have people on your side, even if they were powerless to help.

It was then that the doorbell rang. Arabella picked up her walking stick, and heading into the hall, winked at Remus. Remus heard the door opening and a harsh, effected voice floated through into the house.

'Good morning, Arabella. Thank you so much for taking him. I can't stop to chat; we're in something of a hurry…'

'We're visiting Vernon's sister for the weekend…'

No, it _couldn't be._

'What did you say? Take him with us?' A false titter. 'Marge can't stand the boy; I can't say I blame her; he's been nothing but trouble since he arrived; so demanding, not like our Dudders…'

It _was._

'You're a saint for taking him for the weekend….'

'It's all right Mrs Dursley; we'll have lots of fun. I'll make sure he's no trouble. He can feed the cats for me. They don't scratch _too_ much. Come on now, Harry.'

Remus heard short, soft steps accompanying Mrs Figg down the hall. Oh Merlin. He hadn't seen Harry for over a year. It was June last time. Would he remember him? Could babies do that? How would he look? Remus's heart was in his mouth. And suddenly, there he was, standing at the door; a tiny little thing with a mass of black hair and an angry red scar on his forehead. The scar. It really was there; Remus though it looked painful; though he wasn't quite sure if it really did look painful, or if his protective instincts were just getting the better of him. Harry was clutching Arabella's leg and chewing his fist; he reached up and scratched the lightning bolt on his head. So it was painful.

Eventually, Harry seemed to become aware of Remus sitting in the room. He looked towards him, half staring, half squinting. He kept blinking and scrunching his little nose up; it was such a strange facial tick for a two year old to have, and yet it seemed so familiar to Remus. Harry took a step forward and bashed into a table leg. Remus winced.

And then it hit him. That expression; it was a babyish approximation of how James had always looked when he couldn't find his glasses. Harry was making faces because he couldn't _see_. He must be so scared, so confused. Hadn't the Dursleys noticed? Remus wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but the conversation he had overheard between Petunia and Arabella didn't leave much room for doubt. Lily would be turning in her grave. What had Dumbledore done?

'Arabella. Look at him. He can't _see_. He needs to visit an optician; he needs glasses.'

'I know.'

'You can't just say "I know"! What the hell is going on?'

'Remus, I know. I'll speak to Petunia about his eyes.'

'You shouldn't have to! She must be seeing this herself! This isn't just about a pair of glasses, is it?'

'No; it's not.'

'How can you be so calm?'

'Because it's not just about his glasses; but it's also not just about the here and now. Getting angry isn't going to help; you know the situation; he _has_ to stay with the Dursleys.'

Remus looked defeated. He turned to Harry. Harry turned to face him; he toddled over to Remus, stood right in front of him, paused for a second, and then clambered up onto Remus's knee. He knelt on his lap, lay his head on his shoulder, and wrapped his arms round Remus's neck. Remus froze; his heart seemed to stop for a second, and then he put his arms round Harry and held him in a tight hug.

'Happy birthday, Champ,' he whispered.

Arabella looked stunned.

'I think he remembers you Remus,' she said quietly.

Remus knew that Dumbledore was going to go through him for disobeying orders; but right at that moment, he just didn't care.

* * *

On Sunday night, when Petunia arrived to pick Harry up, Harry tugged on his aunt's sleeve.

'Figgy got nice friend. Harry like Figgy friend.'

For weeks Harry spoke of "Figgy friend", but as time went on, and on subsequent visits to Mrs Figg's she was alone, he forgot.

**A/N Well, as no one had an opinion I wrote this chapter anyway. Just two chapters left now.**

**Reviews make me happy. Please?**


	13. Creation

Mad-Eye trekked up the rocky path towards Hagrid's cabin, his staff gripping the sand and pebbles as he walked; his real eye darting surveying his surroundings; his magical eye whizzing manically. He had intended to arrive at Hogwarts earlier, and then call on Dumbledore before he returned home, but he had been kept much later than he had expected with Dora and Lizzie. Much to his astonishment, he had actually rather enjoyed his afternoon; it had been amusing to witness just how much the nine-year-old clearly hero-worshipped her older cousin; and the unease on Dora's face when she had seen how earnestly the surprisingly serious Lizzie listened to his advice on healthy suspicion and self-defence had been entertaining. Nymphadora had muttered something about her aunt killing her if Lizzie went home spouting forth a Mad-Eye paranoid rant; Mad-Eye had responded that she could do with learning a lesson or two from her cousin when it came to paying attention. His trainee had rolled her eyes at this, in quite spectacular imitation of her mother.

But whilst Mad-Eye hadn't found the afternoon too insufferable, he did feel that he had come close to exhausting his tank of social interaction and exchanging inane pleasantries with people for one day. The evening dusk was already turning to night as he ascended the hillside, so he decided that no matter how old a friend he might be, Dumbledore could wait for another time. It wasn't as if he had warned the Headmaster of his plans anyway, so he wouldn't be disappointing him; Mad-Eye never disclosed his movements to anyone in advance; to do so would be to beg for those plans to be overheard and for his movements to be tracked. It was why he had deliberately kept the arrangements of his visit to Hagrid vague.

By and by he found himself facing the cabin, and he banged the door with his staff; he heard the rumble of an echo inside.

Hagrid and Remus had not long settled down at the table when they were interrupted; they had arrived at Hagrid's cabin to an enthusiastic welcome from Fang, who, once again, had helped himself to the contents of the larder; the grease, gravy and blood round his jaws betraying his crime. The cabin had shaken as he jumped up on Hagrid, his tail thumping happily on the floor, so the two men had been obliged to sort out the chaos and banish the dog to the corner before starting their work. It was imperative that Fang didn't get his teeth into the album; both men had set their hearts on this gift for Harry, and neither relished the thought of presenting Harry with a ragged and holey album, accompanied by the excuse that the dog had eaten their homework.

On opening the door, before his eyes had a chance to focus, Hagrid felt a wand pointed at his chest, and a hiss of '_prove yourself'._

'An' a very good evenin' ter you Mad-Eye.'

'I said _prove yourself.'_

'This is ma house Mad-Eye; yer the one turnin' up uninvited.'

'True,' he said, lowering his wand. 'But one cannot be too careful these days.'

'In yeh come yeh daft ol' goat. Are yeh here about Harry's album? I were expectin' a letter.'

'As I said, one cannot be too careful. I felt it prudent to come in person.'

'We're jus' getting' it finished. Yer contribution'll be right welcome.'

It was then that Mad-Eye noticed that Hagrid had company.

'Remus,' he moved to raise his wand.

'Alastor, it was the full moon two nights ago, I can sit here and give you my life story, but I'm really not sure I have the energy.'

'An' I've bin wi' him all evening; he's no' been drinkin' polyjuice.'

The internal struggle between being polite to old friends and comrades, and the instinct to trust no one was almost manifesting itself physically in Mad-Eye's countenance. Finally, on the grounds that, as a half-giant, Hagrid had undoubtedly not been on the polyjuice, Mad-Eye bowed to the inevitable and pulled up a chair. He removed a bundle of photographs from the breast pocket of his travelling cloak and placed it carefully on the table, like a holy relic. Remus picked up the bundle and untied the string securing it together. He spread the pictures on the table, but one, which had been loose from the parcelled bundle, caught his eye; it seemed out of place, so he picked it up for a closer look.

The photograph was black and white, and showed a little girl of about five or so, dressed in old-fashioned robes, standing on a rock by a vast alpine lake. She was clutching a squirming bundle of fluff in her hands, which, on closer inspection, proved to be a very young cocker spaniel puppy. It was clearly not a photograph of Lily Evans. The child bore a rather disconcerting resemblance to Mad-Eye. She was sturdily built, with a wide face and such thick, curly hair that her two plaits stuck out at odd angles from her head. Her eyebrows were thick and dark, which made her look a little dour; belying the happiness evident from the fact that she was grinning from ear to ear. A blonde woman with handsome, Germanic features was just visible in the corner of the frame, lending a supporting hand, clearly worried that the child was balanced a little too precariously on the rock.

'What's this Mad-Eye?' asked Remus.

'That's mine; it's not for the album.'

He snatched the photograph from the werewolf's hand, returning it to the pocket of his cloak, but not before Remus saw the faded writing on the back: "Adelaide Moody, aged 5, Oeschinensee, Switzerland, 1st August 1929." A later addition, in a large childish scrawl in heavy pencil stated "Adelaide, Jumble & Mummy."

'What happened to her, Alastor?'

'She got sick,' he said quietly.

'I had no idea, Alastor; I'm so s-.'

'It was a very, very long time ago,' Mad-Eye snapped. His tone of voice made it very clear that the matter was closed.

* * *

The rest of the night passed productively over tankards of butterbeer and Rosmerta's oak-matured mead; though the three men could not entirely help but get distracted and side-tracked with their memories every now and again. Remus mentioned that he had had lunch with Emmeline Vance recently, a comment which provoked a rather startling reaction from Hagrid, as he realised Remus was speaking of a member of the Order whom he had not thought to contact. Remus reassured him that given Emmeline had been several years ahead of Lily and James at school, and had not known them until they joined the Order, it was doubtful that she would have had any photographs of events that they hadn't already covered.

Hagrid and Remus had both been quite surprised, however, at the photographs that Mad-Eye had produced. There were some that even Remus had never seen before, including one of Lily and Alice sitting in the Longbottoms' kitchen, with Harry and Neville (both around ten months old) clambering over their laps. Remus had half-heartedly argued against this picture's inclusion, given his feelings that the album should contain photographs of Harry's family alone, and looking at photographs of Alice, knowing the fate that had befallen her and Frank, always made him so desperately sad; but he hadn't put up any resistance worthy of the name. It was a beautiful photograph, and it wasn't right for heroes to be forgotten just because they made the ones left behind uncomfortable.

There were photographs of Harry's christening, which had left Remus slightly baffled, as he knew for certain that Mad-Eye had not attended the event. But there Harry was, in his mother's arms (thank Merlin), his tiny fists flailing; his face screwed up as he screamed blue murder at the font as water was splashed over his head.

Mad-Eye's photographs were exactly what the album needed to complete it. The pictures were arranged in some semblance of chronological order, and carefully placed into the album. After Hagrid slid the last photograph into place, he looked up. It was dawn.

* * *

Harry was sitting in his hospital bed as Hagrid presented the album to him. There was a lump in his throat and a feeling of trepidation as the irrational thought that Harry might not like his present spun round in his head. What if Hagrid succeeded only in upsetting the eleven year old? Harry was extraordinary, that was plain, but he was still just a child. How would he feel suddenly being confronted with images of his parents? Suddenly, Hagrid found himself worrying that this album hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Hagrid watched as Harry looked at the leather-bound book curiously. The boy looked up at his friend before he opened the book with shaking hands. He let out a small, almost inaudible gasp as he stared at the images of himself and his parents. Hagrid seemed to be saying something, but Harry wasn't processing a single word of it, and he wouldn't have been able to formulate a response even if he had. It was the most perfect present anyone could have given him. He just hoped that Hagrid understood.

**A/N Thank you to all my reviewers! Sorry for the delay with this chapter, I've found this one really hard to write as a) nothing much is happening, and b) I hate having to write Hagrid's peculiar speech patterns! I'm still not entirely happy with the chapter, but don't think I can make it any better, so I'm afraid you're stuck with it!**

**The final chapter, a sort-of epilogue, is set in Christmas Eve, 1998. It should be up much more quickly than this one!**


	14. One Final Photograph

_Christmas Eve, 1998_

Neville Longbottom hovered, shame-faced, in Andromeda Tonks' hall, unable to look at the tall witch with the heavily hooded eyes who stood in front of him.

He had always said that Remus Lupin was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher he had ever had. He had respected the man enormously, and then fought alongside him in that last, tragic, victorious battle. And so, ever since Neville had heard about the existence of Teddy, and how the baby's circumstances so closely mirrored Neville's own, he had been anxious to meet him; he thought he could help. Circumstances had, however, until now, dictated otherwise. It had been difficult, in the immediate aftermath of the battle, to find five minutes to himself; Harry Potter had not been the only warrior to attract attention; the story of Neville Longbottom: snake-slayer had rather captured the public's imagination and there had been so many requests for interviews; everyone wanted a piece of him. There had been talk of a children's storybook. His grandmother had been delighted, and had required no persuasion to tell anyone who asked about her grandson, the great war-hero, who was to be awarded the Order of Merlin, didn't they know? But for Neville, it had all been rather wearisome. Voldemort's downfall was of course something to be celebrated, but he had no desire to bask in glory when so many of his friends had fallen. He had turned down most of the interviews, but even just the act of telling Rita Skeeter where to go took effort.

He had attended Remus's funeral; it had been painful to see the three oak coffins being carried in; two draped in yellow and one in red, all that was left of his favourite teacher; an Auror Neville had met only once, on her last day on earth; and a man he had never known. He had expected to see Teddy at the funeral, but Mrs Tonks and the baby had not shown up; he had overheard a woman saying to Harry that the thought of attending had simply been too much for Andromeda to bear. Neville had instead found himself sitting outside the front steps of the church, attempting to comfort a sobbing fifteen year old muggle girl, who had what was clearly Nymphadora Tonks' old school scarf wrapped round her neck, unable to bring herself to enter the building.

And when the summer was over, Neville had found himself on the Auror training programme. He didn't believe that he would remain an Auror. It was what his grandmother wanted, of course, but he had finally realised that he was more than capable of choosing his own path in life. He had hesitated before accepting a place on the programme at all, but the Ministry were desperate; their ranks had been desperately depleted, and there was so much work to do to round up the Death-Eaters who were still at large, to prepare cases for trial, and to rebuild a department that would be respected. He had realised the value of the skills he would learn, and when Kingsley Shacklebolt had personally requested that he join, telling him the department would be lucky to have him, the deal was done. You didn't say "no" to Kingsley Shacklebolt. And there had been advantages to being in that line of work. Neville had personally been present when both Dolores Umbridge and the Lestrange brothers were apprehended. He had never imagined that work could be so satisfying.

Auror training was somewhat all-consuming. He had remained determined to visit Teddy, but Harry had warned him that Andromeda was rather emotionally fragile, and not really ready for visitors.

And now, finally, it was Christmas Eve and he was in Cambridge having gone with Harry on the visit he had been looking forward to for eight months and it had all gone horribly, horribly wrong.

It had been Harry's fault really. Harry tended to assume, having grown up with muggles, that he was generally worse informed about the magical community than Ron or Neville; so if Harry knew something, he worked on the presumption that his friends did too. In this case, he had taken it for granted that Neville already knew about Andromeda's heritage, and had therefore failed to warn him that she was the spitting image of her sister. Unfortunately, Neville _hadn't_ known, which was why, when Andromeda had opened the door to the two boys, he had pulled out his wand.

He should have realised; should have noticed the wriggling baby clutching her front, but he had been acting on instinct. Her reactions had been quick, and she had disarmed him before he had had the chance to curse. Harry had quickly realised what had occurred, and had apologised profusely to both Andromeda and Neville with the words 'Neville, I thought you _knew'._

She had invited them both in, and had cautiously handed Neville back his wand. But it had been the look on her face which Neville knew he would never forget; it wasn't one of anger, as he had expected; it was a simple look of unadulterated, unbearable hurt and pain, which was why Neville was now standing awkwardly in Andromeda's hall, looking at the floor and feeling too guilty to say a word or even move.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

'It's all right, you know. I'm long past being offended; I do understand; especially from you.'

'I'm so sorry Mrs Tonks; you have every right to be angry; I…'

'I get the impression Harry didn't warn you there was a family resemblance?'

'Family…?'

'She was my sister, Neville. We hadn't spoken since 1971, when I got engaged to Ted.'

'I didn't know. I just…'

'You were thinking of your parents. There's no need to apologise or make excuses to me. She destroyed a lot of lives, my sister. Including mine.

'And if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one. Your friend Miss Granger reacted rather badly on meeting me too.'

Andromeda was speaking whilst bouncing Teddy on her hip, and trying to prevent him from eating her hair and sticking his fingers up her nose and in her eyes.

Would you like to hold him?'

'Yes,' said Neville with a grin. 'I would.'

* * *

Andromeda had erected a Christmas tree in her sitting room. The smell was wonderful, and the decorations beautiful. It was surrounded by a vast array of brightly wrapped presents. The effort that had gone into it would have been unthinkable for Andromeda a few months earlier. Harry had been visiting Andromeda regularly over the preceding months. She had come a long way since that first cold, guarded, stilted meeting in July. She had long lost her hostility, and seemed to appreciate Harry's visits. It had reached the stage where Teddy recognised Harry now, and babbled and gabbled and reached out excitedly when he saw his godfather. Ever since Andromeda had met up with Narcissa, her unnatural, cold detachment had vanished. It seemed Andromeda had learnt how to cry; in fact her eyes nowadays seemed to be permanently leaking; but this seemed healthier to Harry than the way things had been previously, and Harry was sure that this too would pass. And the change in her just in the past week had been remarkable. She seemed a lot more settled. There was a sadness in her eyes though, that Harry knew would never disappear; he had witnessed the same look in Molly.

Andromeda had learnt how to cry, and Teddy had learnt how to crawl. He was fast, too, and into everything. The two boys watched as the baby clambered on top of an ancient, soft, battered polar bear with a missing eye and a worn nose. The toy was as big as Teddy himself, and he seemed to be revelling in lying on top of it and grasping great chunks of its matted fur. He was letting out squeals of delight.

'The first time Remus and Dora met, she hit him over the head with that bear,' smiled Andromeda.

Harry looked at her in surprise.

'She was two and a half. Sirius had just run away from home, and he dragged Remus and your father along to mine for Christmas lunch. Remus made the mistake of referring to her as a baby and she got a bit offended. Somewhat ironically, he was defending her from Sirius's teasing at the time.'

'So then did…did you know my dad?'

'Not really, no; I only met him that once.'

She turned her attention back to Teddy, who was trying to use the polar bear as a support to stand up; he was not having much success; his hands kept sinking into the fur.

I don't think it will be long before he's walking, actually,' mused Andromeda. 'He's got the idea of standing up, but at the moment, he seems to realise he can still move more quickly by crawling.'

'He looks so much like Remus.'

'I know, but he's got Dora's dimples, right there,' she leant down and stroked his cheeks. 'And Merlin knows how he'll look when he works out he can change his appearance consciously.'

She scooped Teddy up and lifted him up over her head. He laughed uproariously.

'He's a very handsome little boy,' she said with adoration in her voice.

Neville smiled. It was a strange smile; one almost of relief.

'You're really proud of him, aren't you?'

'Naturally.' But then she paused, and her nose wrinkled. 'But I think you're going to have to excuse us for a minute.'

* * *

Later in the afternoon Andromeda was crouched down at the foot of the tree. She withdrew two parcels from below the tree.

'You know, I had a visit from one of your friends last week. A Dean Thomas?'

'Yes, we know him well.'

'Did you know? Had he ever said anything to you about…about Ted?'

In his time knowing Andromeda, Harry had noticed that "Ted" was always a reference to her husband, and "Teddy", or occasionally "Theodore", to the baby.

'They travelled together, didn't they? During the war?'

'It wasn't just that. Dean told me a story. I had spent months believing that Bellatrix killed my Ted. She killed Dora, it made sense she'd been after my whole family.' She paused, evidently on the verge of tears, and took a deep breath. 'It wouldn't have been an easy death. I'd spent months worrying that Ted had died wandless; alone, and frightened; and helpless and in pain; I'd been having such terrible nightmares about it.' She paused. 'I shouldn't have told you that.'

'Go on, Mrs Tonks.'

'But he didn't. Mr Thomas told me. Ted and Dirk Cresswell, they saved Dean's life. The three of them were travelling with two goblins, and one of them forgot and said Voldemort's name, when it was taboo; they were surrounded by snatchers within seconds. The goblin Gornuk was killed instantly, but Ted and Dirk started firing curses and ordered Dean and Griphook to run. Dean told me he wanted to stand there and fight with them, it seemed quite important to him that I knew that, but that Ted shoved him away. Ted and Dirk sacrificed themselves to allow Dean and Griphook to escape. Dean said he'd told the story when he was precognosed for the official report on the war, and sure enough, Minister Shacklebolt arrived here four days ago, to tell me that Ted had been nominated for the Order of Merlin.'

'That's great, Andromeda. How do you feel?'

'Do I need to spell it out to you? My Ted didn't die in the dirt. He died on his feet; straight-backed and proud. I slept better after hearing that. After telling me that, Mr Thomas is welcome round here any time,' she smiled.

'Anyway, it's about time I gave you your Christmas presents.'

Neville was rather overwhelmed when she handed him a parcel. He hadn't been expecting anything. Andromeda noticed the surprise on his face.

'I believe you were of assistance to my niece at…at the funeral.' She said the word "funeral" very quickly, as if haste would help the word lose its sting. 'She told me all about it. She was very impressed with you. It's just something small, but think of it as a thank you.'

'Thanks, Mrs Tonks, that's really kind of you.'

Harry was handed a larger parcel.

'Now this is from Teddy, he insisted; it's absolutely nothing to do with me.'

Teddy was, at that point, sitting on Harry's lap. Harry laughed.

'Thanks, Champ,' he said, and he planted a kiss on the baby's head. The present was accompanied by a card, which he opened first. The front of the card was graced with a photograph of Harry holding Teddy, and the inside of the card read "To my godfather Harry, Merry Christmas, Lots of Love from" and at the bottom, was a small blue handprint.

'And this one,' said Andromeda, reaching under the tree again, '_is_ from me. It's really rather overdue, actually. I should have given it to you a long time ago. But please don't open it in front of me; I'm not sure I can handle seeing it again.'

Harry nodded, and placed the small, flat parcel in the pocket of his cloak.

'Are you going to your sister's for Christmas, Mrs Tonks?'

Andromeda raised an eyebrow.

'I don't think so,' she said silkily. 'I may be on speaking terms with _Narcissa_ now, but I can think of a hundred things I'd rather be doing on Christmas Day than spending it making polite conversation with Lucius Malfoy. I want Teddy's first Christmas to be _pleasant._'

Harry and Neville both laughed at this.

'I can sympathise there.'

'No, we're going to Ireland this evening; we're having a lovely Tonks family Christmas and Teddy's going to meet his Auntie Orla for the first time. She's been desperate to visit Teddy, but she's getting a little old for overseas apparation.'

Harry looked confused. 'Wait, so your husband had an Aunt who's a witch? I thought Ted was muggle-born?'

Andromeda smiled. 'Haven't I ever told you about Ted's grandparents?'

* * *

That night Harry withdrew Andromeda's Christmas present from his cloak. He opened the wrapping carefully to find a framed photograph. In the centre was Sirius, transformed into a great, black dog; on top of him, a very tiny girl, with her blonde hair in straggly bunches, that could only have been Tonks, she was grinning manically and looking absurd with a pair of large round glasses on her face; on her left was Remus looking slightly exasperated; and on her right was Harry's father, squinting and not quite looking at the camera, but sporting a pair of antlers on his head. It was such a merry scene it was almost possible to forget that everyone in the photograph was dead.

He placed the picture in pride of place in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, and for months afterwards, proudly showed to it anyone who visited.

When Christmas was over, Harry went to the bookcase and drew out the photograph album that Hagrid had given him years ago. Teddy's card was lovingly pasted into the final page; because Teddy was family now.

THE END


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